Saturday, April 6, 2013

Now

The back stairwell smells like mayonaise and marijuana.  Someone's getting high and making tuna fish sandwiches. I've been running up and down the dirty blue stairs since 7pm tonight doing laundry.  Five washes. Countless dries. It's 10:22 now and I'm wondering if the tumbling towels and blankets will be dry by 11. I work early tomorrow morning. I left the dog too long today--miscounted the hours. Poor pup peed on the bed. When I get home, she doesn't make a sound, but when I open the bedroom door she whines and puts her paws on my shoulders, licking an apology onto my face. No, I'm sorry. We go outside. There are dogs everywhere. I like this city. I like it's porches and vegan variety. I have friends I love living near and a lake I can't stop staring at. But I'll be ready when our adventure here is done and I can return to the quiet of the country. I want a little house one day with green land and farm stands to give my money to. Apple orchards to raid and a mountain trail to hike. I have adapted well to Chicago. Like a monkey at the zoo. Windows on all sides, my glowing yellow lamp shining on my shrunken habitat, projecting out like a television screen. We are seen. We see. I take the bus and sometimes ride my bicycle--though the brakes are broken and my kick stand has fallen off-- and I drive and parallel park and put my quarters in meters and slow down for those who are deliriously stupid with road rage. I am one of many, but my soul is in this body and so it's here within this dry winter skin where I learn my twenty-ninth year.  I can slow my pulse. I can stop my mind. I can see the moment around me. 

A Wise Friend

A wise friend is akin to a book of old wisdom.  A book of bone and soul and skin. A book that breathes and speaks and eats. A book with a so...