What does the silence say? Is the whole story the compilation of things we allow to come off our lips and the things we don’t? We’ll never know them—never know the details left missing and why. What are the options not chosen and why were they not taken? I know my own silences with intimacy and still don’t often know their origins. Are the thoughts left out moving around at a lower volume? Did I turn them down or did they enter my head that way—softly?
i square my shoulders to the mirror
lock my gaze on the face
starting back at me
my heart whispers and it falls off my lips:
i see you opening
And it's like a seed bursting disastrously open in the hopes that something comes out of it. Maybe it can be the tree it's been told it is on the inside--as comically far-fetched as it feels to dream of tall, sky-gracing branches while buried underground. It is dirty and messy and dark. It will take hard work and miracles. It is everything inside you waiting for the rain. It is everything inside you reaching for the sun. But it is possible, friend. It is possible.
(Image from Alldayeveryday.com)
My best friend Marla bought me this book (for Christmas, I think?) knowing that I had professedly claimed the color blue (specifically that deep, thick indigo that you get lost in) as my soul-color. It couldn't have been a better fit for my 2016. Maggie Nelson's writing is unabashed and understatedly sarcastic, silly at times and side-railingly devastating at others.