It is very late at night as I lay here in the dark listening to the hum of the fan. The soft wind murmurs through the trees outside the open door. I can’t sleep because the night is alive. I hear you in her chambers, climbing the walls, opening the windows, locking the doors, picking away at yourself, peeling back your skin. I know you’re only looking for me.
Everything you do- not to cry- stopped working. To break open your heart into me is how you got lost in the first place. I know the tearing and how it hurts, I know where you are and how to find you. I stare at the black ceiling as it spins and pulls me upward-upward away from here, from the waiting for your return. You need me- and the wind starts to howl and the wind chimes bang and slam against each other, just outside my door. I know what words can do.
I am peaceful as you hover and the craft is about to appear. I’ve left here before, it’s not a problem. Believe me, I know the currents you ride in and out on. The whistle, the bell, the scream. I know them all, the sounds in your throat. Don’t throw it all away, your love for me meant something more. I could have lost it all, the edge, my body, my clammy mind -but I kept it for you- so that you had a place that could hear your thoughts and prayers, and I do hear.. the ghost of who used to be here-living in the hollow of the swell. My breath moves up and down but I hear only the hum. It’s a haunting love. Bones broken and loose, skin hanging. These songs are coming from so far away…
When I was a small child my grandmother used to drop me off at this old and remote graveyard in the country- it was overgrown and abandoned – saying that she would be back later to pick me up. The ground was lumpy (with bodies I thought) and I was afraid. I was walking on dead bodies and it was too quiet to not hear their memories and final prayers. So I would wander looking for flat ground but I never found it. I tried jumping over the lumps but it never worked. I tried plugging my ears -but their voices only got louder. Finally I just gave up and would sit on the lumpy earth beneath a tree and just rock back and forth, humming and listening.
She really traumatized me, my grandmother, but it was inevitable and I suppose someone had to do it. I don’t know why she did it…to be honest, the voices of the dead were too much -and I was too young for such a transmission…seems I’m always being ravaged by time so that youth and innocence are replaced with something else, something heavy and urgent. I’ve never had all the time in the world…babies die you know…babies die into me. It’s real, the bodies with nowhere else to go. She knew. She was my grandmother.
“You know I’m always here.” It’s no joke. The amber afternoon- morning is over and we know it’s too late to start again. Where do I go now that I’ve been drained and broken – then filled up again with this thing…
Well, it’s happening because something very sad and beautiful is rising from the ruins of these empty places. The hand that was never held, the one we never found. We keep wandering looking for each other…and I know this.
I could paint a portrait of you -a memory, in the dark, in the hum, with only this night left. Yet, I can’t change a thing…the wind keeps howling and never stops -looking and carrying the sounds we leave and follow. I did this all for you.
But it seems I was destined to carry the corpse all the way through to the end. I remember. I don’t forget why you love me. The dogs smell everything and some of them laugh. My feet are burning where the sun rises- but I keep going. I’m delivering corpses and the messages unheard. I’m hearing the lost prayers and the boys that wither. I’m crying the lost tears and the girls that slither. And I went too far and they took me there
so early, into the fear of nothing to hold onto…
So I hold onto you, the only corpse left -and I sing to you as I carry you through my sounds- and turn you into words that I can say. This love is bleeding and my heart is filled with red.
Real is the lumpy earth where they lay bones covered in dirt for no reason. It was real and I was somebody there, back then so long ago. Somebody important. I knew.
My grandmother is dead now and she speaks and I forget if I’m here or there. I forget if I matter anymore.
I hope you’re still there my heavy and silent friend