SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Tuesday, Nov. 28, 2006 @ 12:09 am
Four Sleeps Left



Icicles grow longer, pointing to the core of the earth, the core of my heart. Four sleeps left in my cottage, this house of dreams. Four sleeps surrouned in stacked boxes, bare white walls, empty kitchen cupboards, with the icicles guarding my shallow restless sleep.

Some days I do not leave the property. I scatter seed around on the stumps and in the window box and watch the juncos and towhees scratch around for a snowy day snack. I throw snowballs for Lucy and love her like my own. Celery and cabbage... being alone isn't good for me. I bury my face in a white t-shirt that Daniel left on the couch. He loves me, he loves me, I love his smell.

This is the biggest move of my life.

Boxes full of spices, pasta, CD's, books. My box of journals freezing in a drafty attic, so far away from me, my life, why did I leave them there?

I stomp down the snowy sidewalk in high furry suede boots to visit the Chinese grocer just three doors down. Jingle bell on the door. Orchids for sale. Jade plants. Coolers of milk, racks of chips, five-cent candy. "Three eighteen," she says as I count change out onto the counter. Goodbye.

I walk around the lake and say "Hello" to even the most stubborn of folks who stare at the ground as they pass. That nice man with the two little fox dogs in their harnesses. Pictures. The sun winter low and the snow perfect white, sky blue. Snow stays on the branches, skeletons, crystals hanging, glistening.

Leaving behind so little. I don't really have any friends anymore. Adrienne and I hardly talk now that I am moving. Given up. What's the point? I don't care about her life anymore anyhow. That's the whole problem: I never care about girls. I don't care about what your boyfriend thinks about this, and I don't care about how much weight you lost on what diet. I don't care about your new hairstyle or the great deal you got on these pants at Costco. I don't care about these things because I don't care about you. I guess that's the whole problem. I also think that your scrapbook is really boring. No not yours, hers.

Lolli and I took her Lucy to the field this afternoon, and I couldn't play with them like I play with just Lucy alone. I couldn't be silly with them because I love them both so much. Lolli could be the one girl that I actually like in this city, and I'm too afraid of being vulnerable that I ruin the whole thing by being cold. Cold. Icicles grow longer around the cottage.

Lolli and my Lucy in the deep snow, powder snow and the sun has set. We're running down the road side-by-side in the tire tracks, Lucy way off ahead, feet slipping out sideways in her romping lope. Goodbye.










Roots | Shoots