portfolio > breathing lessons

I am sitting in a car wash

wishing

for beautiful words

the sound of water

fog
and how I had forgotten it

woods
a tractor seat ‘s well worn cushion
a screwdriver
a peanut in the side pocket
receipts for welding equipment
the remnants of a good cotton season
beige hallways with no art
pocket contents
flower arrangements in three rooms

lamentations.

proofs.


I wished to write beautiful words about grief, but all I really have is the truth:

My father died on Jan 20, 2013.
I hadn’t seen him in seven years.
I missed his funeral.
My mother told me to stay away
because my queerness is like another death.

And then I went home anyway.
I loved him,
and he loved me.

So what do I do when someone becomes anecdotes

traces

silence?

I am taking breathing lessons.