“I am this space my body believes in.”
― Yusef Komunyakaa
The other afternoon I decided to go to the hardware store to buy a gallon of paint, color New Hope Gray. I had been told this was the correct color of my house by the previous owners, but it was, alas, incorrect. I ended up with some variation of a platinum gray, but that’s not really the point.
The point was the original thought: New Hope Gray.
It got me thinking of beauty.
And I went for a walk behind my house. And there was warmth and sun and still I did not write a poem.
However, I thought of this:
“To raise the veil.
To see what you’re saying goodbye to.”
― Louise Glück
Because I frequently think of the name Louise when I look at the water. I suppose I should explain myself because you might be thinking puddle and it’s never like that when your heart is real and big. This is my Louise:
Okay, my thoughts today were to write a poem (I didn’t) or a short story-something (nope, also did not) but maybe I smoked a cigar down by the pond and wore a big hat.
And thoughts: A reflection in a large body of water is different than a reflection in a mirror. It’s almost like you’re seeing what you would look like dead and gone and floating at the bottom of something. Sometimes when you see yourself that way, it’s exactly where you want to be and other times, it’s just embarrassing and terrifying.
So here’s what you do, write something about your reflection. You get a keyboard or pencil or blood and then you put all that away because you’re like me, kind of lazy, sometimes busy, mostly afraid. But late tonight, you walk by your living room’s window and you see yourself out of the corner of your eyeball, like people see ghosts. And you go. You write.
I will if you will.