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Indigo Vales

Tag Archives: December

Soon?

15 Tuesday Dec 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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December, dream, green life, growing, insomnia, life, long dark, Solstice, soon

The neighbor’s bathroom door slammed.
He’s a very good slammer.
My eyes opened and saw Christmas cactus silhouette
on the windowsill, echevarria’s sawtooth lump,
prayer plant’s leaves erect as they are not during the day.
It was a miracle I slept between then and then,
I dreamed, and hated the dream and
wanted to call you and tell you I’m sorry even though it was
just a dream about your fish in a tank, saltwater in fresh,
giant in small, and that you just didn’t seem to care.
I catalogued my pains and knew I would not sleep anymore.
Loud footsteps cross downstairs.
His microwave door thumps closed: breakfast of champions.
Nurse shadow passes my window, bundled.
It will be light soon? I asked swaying bare branches outside.
The laptop is so cold on my wrists; I turn on the heat
and hope it will satisfy the plants on the sill whose magenta faces
press desperately to the cold pane.
It must be light soon. It was dark at five, surely the sun will come soon?
Where is that cool cobalt that cancels coal dark,
sherbet palette on the way? Now? Is it now?
These are the long nights of winter in this hemisphere
5PM and the timers kick on the courtyard lights
6AM they’re still glowing
When the light finally comes I see crows flying west
as the dragonflies did in late spring, certain.
The crows of Middletown flew west late in the day,
I could tell the time by their flocking
as I sat near tall windows, chatting on the phone about nothing.
Cars dripping dew awaken, Navies on their way.
The sun’s trajectory short like patience.
My plants drink, hungry, and I use my indoor voice to say
“Good morning” and I rub their leaves gently.
I dread the night.

December Fog

15 Saturday Dec 2018

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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December, fog, foghorn, insomnia, ocean, sound, weather

I heard rain was coming this week.  I was so excited. I love rain when it comes here, particularly the pounding rain on the roof I can barely hear because the building is built well and my ears don’t hear so well, but there’s just this something that tells me it’s rain and I run outside 20 times a day to see it hurling down and dripping from long, green pine needles.   

I waited up stayed up wanting to hear the rain and all we got was less than what I wanted, a fuzzy drifting wet, tiny things you couldn’t even call drops, more like midges circling the lamp post jostling for the best mate, only a little damper.  That was no rain.  

But fog did come.  When I finally caved in to the tired I stripped and rolled in and watched the orange sky (the one that tells me we’ve got weather, otherwise the sky is mediocre blue) but heard no beating rain. The trees beyond the window didn’t gleam with wet, but the one significant sound was white fog and one calling horn.  The foghorns did not sound all day, it was more like off and on, and mostly the horns are loud from the back bay, not the ones in the channel who tag team “horn” and “horn,” the lowing that I love.  

I slept eventually and the sun rose and moved but you wouldn’t believe it because the sky was white, mother of pearl white, drifting from north, damp, feigning rain, cloaking the sun but the horn keeps calling from the back bay. 

I am in love.  But the persons who pilot ships would not speak so honorifically of the white gray mother of pearl steel fog I uplift here, watching drift. They have reason to care.

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