Posts in Reflection
The Pendulum of Time

I.
A baby blue bowl floating in a sea
Peony petals rippling the pond
A bird’s nest of freshly kindled eggs.

And this is where sentiment blooms, invigorated in the vein of the pulp. This is where a pollen grain can hitherto germinate, in the buds of white trees. White shoots, not white roots, my father tells me.

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Summer Rain

Oh my God, could I possibly be happier than when there is a late afternoon rainfall. A heavy rain, but not a destructive one. As it washes over the streets and sidewalks and anything or anyone in its path, it washes away any cares and worries I might have at that moment.

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Self-Portrait

The man who was once a boy that raped the once girl that was me has a daughter. 
    I know this because Facebook told me in the language of a single frame. 
As it happened, his face appeared on my timeline as one of Facebook’s helpful suggestions of people I might know, people I might want to friend. After a moment of hesitation, I clicked on his picture. Then, I read his name to myself, scanning his face, his eyes, that smile, all the same. I heard his voice in my ear threaten: If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you--as if it were yesterday and not twenty years ago. The non-linearity of our lives and our memories, and how they move and crash upon one another is beautiful and terrifying and fantastic and strange.  

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An Exorcism in Three Parts

1. The day we packed all of my things into boxes I felt something leave my body. Like the longer I occupied that space, the longer it occupied me. A friend came by to help me pile the odds and ends I reluctantly scattered around the place we called home, in to the brand new SUV, I decisively named Miracle. God placed me at the wrong place at the right time, so that when the day came for the exorcism, we would be ready.

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Simpler Days

I wept for 10 seconds today. I normally don't cry. I can't. Who has the time? The thick, unbreakable layers of my sadness lie at the opposite end of the earth. I'm convinced I can't reach them unless I spend twelve days in an Ayahuasca retreat held deep in the jungles of Peru. Only an old, wise Peruvian shaman could serve me a potion to awaken the dormant part of my brain that harbors the demons within me.

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THE OLD MAN IN THE MIRROR

Old age is a shock. To discover over and over again that I am old rattles me to my core every freaking day. As well as I can remember, the first time I realized I was old was when I looked in the mirror and saw an old man’s face completely unfamiliar to me. My femininity had flown out the window sometime during the night. I miss it. 

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