home sweet

the end of the poem Guilty of Dust, by Frank Bidart:

WHETHER YOU LOVE WHAT YOU LOVE

OR LIVE DIVIDED IN CEASELESS
REVOLT AGAINST IT

WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE

if i die anytime in the near future, engrave this on my tombstone. okay, i want to be cremated, but still. get tattooes of this in my memory.

i talked to mana for 3 hours and 11 minutes last night (and 4 seconds). upon hanging up i realized three things i'd forgotten to tell her, as usual. i miss her terribly. she is definitely probably coming to see me next weekend and i'm sure we will have a wonderful time and still not run out of things to talk about. this is the kind of friendship that makes toasts at your wedding. this is the kind of friendship you raise your kids around.

this is the kind of friendship you love. and live in ceaseless revolt against. i'd have it no other way.

also, sarah called me. i almost cried at the sound of her voice. mana, jess, tina, and of course sarita are my favorite long-distance ladies these days. and ylime. between talking to my two favorites, and actually hanging out with em, my life is pretty damn good this weekend. i only talked to sarah for 20 minutes because did i charge my phone thinking, hey someone might call me from england tomorrow? why no, i did not think that. and so i did not charge my phone. argh. but it was so nice to know she's alive and ticking and hearing her voice and it doesn't sound ragged or miserable, and this is my best friend (mana's classification is "wife" - it's a complex system), so i know how she sounds when miserable or trying to cover it up. but she sounds . . . happy isn't it, it's more complex than that. content. i think she knows she made a good choice, i can absolutely tell you she needed to do this. and she's going to SPAIN on wednesday!!

surrounded by women like these, i am lucky.

the desert is making my skin fit tighter right about now. the wind is so pure it blows through you, cleans you out, makes you hollow so the sun can stream in and fill you again. this beautiful, haunting melody of a place. this serene, ceaseless revolt that i am lucky enough to encase inside me and carry to points unknown. this sky, so close i wonder if we're related, if i should greet the day like an old friend, with a hug and a smile.

this brutal place, that blasts perfectly constructed hairstyles apart. this angry place of tired volcanoes and disenfranchised native peoples. this commercial place gobbled up by interlopers. this mothering place that nurtured everyone i know since childhood. this death place, a good spot for funeral pyres. this strange place. where weird people converge. and share their secrets. and move apart again. this home.

this home of mine.