the day of endless contemplation

mid-morning in mid-march. these days i dream of the past less often. there’s something magical abound, dark and sweet, throbbing under our feet, polishing our eyes, rose-tinted. it’s enveloped me in a hazy embrace and i am insubstantial. yesterday, i stepped onto the street and was transported into a luminous citadel. today, i feel quiet, insistent desire.

i think of hades and persephone. dry lips and cold hands. i will never forgive winter. i eat this pomegranate. i wish she had eaten fewer seeds. spend 10 minutes thinking of faith, and 20 minutes failing to meditate. i eat clementines, grapefruit, i give citrus kisses.

i braid my hair and pray for spring. i think of the golden record and then i think of dandelion wine. i do absolutely nothing. everything is pale gold. i try to unlearn bad posture. desire blooms within me and i collapse. i read an essay on lost things. i read a paper on pharmacovigilance. maggie nelson said let me try to rephrase. when I was alive, i aimed to be a student not of longing but of light. i spend the next two hours thinking about this.

i look at the curve of my spine in the mirror before returning my mother’s call. she always wanted me to be gentle and delicate and brave and strong. i am gentle and delicate and brave and strong, i think as i speak to her. my father is out playing holi. i end the call after 1 minute.

i want a cat. i want 2 cats and a fawn and a tame fox and a big, booming garden and –

and the moon is aglow like radioactive milk

i drink sparkling pink lemonade and sit to study

can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all

 

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