Part I

She descended the stairs, which grew smaller and more narrow with each step. They started out as concrete and slowly turned into cobblestone, then adobe, until they looked nothing more than hard mud, then dirt. She was surprised to find herself also getting smaller and more narrow to fit each step, perfectly, although few things seemed to surprise her anymore. And with each step her clothes grew more and more baggy until she crawled out from under the weight of denim and cotton. She found herself stark naked, glowing under an oversized full moon. The air was crisp, but she wasn’t cold. Old habits die hard, however, and she scurried from behind trees to hide her nakedness from the night. Tempted by a pearly liquid, she sat against a branch and sipped it from a leaf. The liquid was sweet and refreshing; she smiled. So engrossed in her nighttime snack she didn’t notice a spider, far superior in size by now to her tiny body, lowering itself from the branches above. She caught its shadow in the moonlight and looked up, startled.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” the spider cooed from above, “but I couldn’t help notice you lost your dress.”
Suddenly aware of her nakedness again, the little girl shyly tried hiding herself, curling her knees up toward her breasts.
“You will never get fitted for a new dress sitting like that,” cooed the spider.
Forgetting all she knew as her former self the girl didn’t feel the least bit threatened by the spider, nor did she bother questioning why she could hear her speak.
“How shall I be, then?” Piped the girl, adding, “I do terribly want something to wear.”
The spider started to sing the most beautiful song the little girl had ever heard, and swung from her web above her, reminding the little girl of a ballerina. “What is a ballerina?” The little girl found herself forgetting exactly, but the term seemed fitting for the spiders song and dance.
“Stand up, child, I must take you completely in and you mustn’t be afraid. You must hold trust and love in your heart like holding your breath. If you do not, your dress will reflect the darkness.”
No longer feeling shy, the little girl stood, both feet planted firmly on the ground and noticed the stars danced to the spiders song, twirling and looping in the dark sky. Even the moon seemed to be smiling. She closed her eyes and breathed deep.
“Ah yes,” cooed the spider. “I see what you are now. Don’t be afraid child, and don’t fear laughter, for this may tickle.”
The spider continued her singing and danced around the little girl, weaving her a dress that can only be described by those who have looked through a telescope and seen nebulas so breathtaking they are at a complete loss for words. The little girl did not laugh, however. She was struck with feelings she did not understand, for she saw it reflected the dancing of the night sky. When the spider had finished her singing, she knew her dress was complete and the little girl collapsed to her knees, crying into her hands.
“What could possibly be the matter, child?” The mother spider cooed. “I have woven a story for you to wear, for all the forest to see and you do not like it?”
The little girl sniffled into her tiny hands. “I am of the darkness,” she whispered, “I filled my heart with love, and it did not work.”
The spider laughed softly. “How did you notice my presence earlier, child? Did you smell me?”
“No…” The little girl’s voice cracked.
“Did you hear me?”
“No…”
“Then, child, how did you know I was above you?”
“I saw your shadow.” The little girl wiped the tears from her cheeks and looked up at the spider with eyes as big as moons.
“Ah! And what created my shadow?”
“The..moon?” And the little girl felt a smile spreading across her tiny face. “The light from the moon!” The little girl squealed.
The spider smiled softly.
“As long as you walk the forest, child, there will never be darkness. The moon can wax and wane and will not always be as bright as it is tonight. But know that in the darkness there still glows a light. Remember this and find comfort.”

You can’t wait for magic. You have to be magic, make magic happen. So looking for you, and waiting is hard. I can’t create it, nor can I wait patiently for the impossible.
Do you want to dance? To not be impatient because I want to sit in the dark grass and pretend I remember the constellations from the constellation crayon box I had as a child? Do you like to drink tea; more than one cup? And not feel guilty for drinking the entire box of tea in one sitting? Will you drive at ungodly hours until we can’t see the city lights just so I can stare at the moon, and say yes if I ask you to howl with me? And I might not wake up early the next day, and we won’t feel like a moment was wasted. If you won’t listen to the torment of a heart, I will. Would you drink my salty tears and feel the life of them turn your soul into rubies? And then I’ll never want another soul, or different eyes peering at me because you realize (and recognize) we have entire universes living inside us, and that’s too much for either of us to bear.
You can create magic, and hope for perfection, because that is what we all are.

I just got told my pup’s a killer. Yea. She’s real vicious y’all. Watch out! #bullybreed #punishthedeednotthebreed #pitties

I just got told my pup’s a killer. Yea. She’s real vicious y’all. Watch out! #bullybreed #punishthedeednotthebreed #pitties

A tent of sky

The thunder sounded like gun shots in the sky. It shook my bed with its might and I looked to the rain. The sun peaked out from the blotchy clouds. I walked to every window in the house, taking in each view as different as they could be. One window showed darkness and a downpour. The other was clear sky, but the rain continued and the thunder rolled from the other side of the house. A puppy sighed and whimpered in her sleep, undisturbed from the storm. She was born in the summer swamp and was used to the sounds and smells of our afternoon storms. I was not born from a summertime swamp and looked to the skies with awe. Another gunshot ripped the skies and echoed into the distance. I wanted to be in it, splashing in the trash filled puddles of my street, but something kept me under the dry roof. I closed my eyes and imagined the rain falling on the lake’s surface, the birds flying for cover, the fish jumping for joy. Another blast brought me back to the rain streaked window and a quiet meow at my feet. The meow was not a summer borne swamp baby, either, and she looked at the rain with hesitation. When I awoke the sky was as dark as night, the thick clouds hiding the sun for the rest of the evening. Water dripped from the tree leaves instead of the sky and the thunder was distant and slowly moving away.

Nola 💜 (at Spotted Cat Music Club)

Nola 💜 (at Spotted Cat Music Club)

505

I was born in the great state of New Mexico. I lived there until I couldn’t, or someone told me I shouldn’t. I thought I could fill the void I felt so deeply in my heart with new houses, new people, with the sun farther away from any location than that desert. I get asked why I left, and I never say “because I wanted to run away.” But I took all the dirt with me, in my pockets and hair and the back of my throat. I ran with Albuquerque on the soles of my feet until I found nothing but calloused heels. I burned piñon and juniper in those nights of insomnia and I prayed in secret to our lady of Guadeloupe, not The Mother, but any mother. I carried turquoise on my fingers and Santa Fe on my skirts. I sat in a swamp, as happy as any cactus lucky enough to escape the droughted dirt could be. And as happy as that cactus was, a dry beating sun that smelled of sage and lavender still beamed out my eyes.

Tags: newmexico

Sip my tea and sit and dream

I want to watch the moon rise over a mountaintop while I watch the glow of a fire grow dim. Listening to crickets will be music and pressing my toes into the dirt, a massage.
I want to feel steady breaths on my back while my eyelids surrender to rest. I’ll move in subconsciousness and feel a leg or a foot. I’ll press the sole of my foot against it and slow my heartbeat.
I’ll never see police lights again, or hear the wail of an ambulance.
I’ll let my hair grow long into braids that rest atop my head like a crown. I’ll forget the days my lips feigned red. Forget that I cared my feet were calloused or my bones grew crooked. I’ll forget the smell of cologne, gladly.
I’ll sit on a porch and watch the sky with a smile so genuine I won’t realize it adorns my lips.
Music will play to an empty room, and fill it with tales of woe, rising and everything that falls in between.
I’ll think of the story of the axe, cutting through a tree, one made from the other.

"They sprout out of the cement,
growing where they shouldn’t.
Rising up patiently
with exemplary will and dignity.
Without lineage,
wild, unclassifiable by botanists.
A strange, rampant,
absurd beauty.
They adorn the greyest of corners,
don’t own anything
and nothing can stop them.
A metaphor for uncontrollable life
that paradoxically forces me
to face my weakness."

— Sidewalls

A time in a life

It wasn’t ever very natural. Over the time spent apart they always had to relearn how to act. Relearn how to kiss each other. They didn’t mind. She waited for him, to hear the thick truck engine shut off and the boots on the porch. The door would open and she would immediately engulf him. He smelled like tilled dirt and salt. His Carhart pants would be stiff from weeks of walking. They had there, overwhelmed with how much they’d missed each other and how long ago that feeling seemed, though only moments had passed. He would give her the letters he wrote her that he cut from the blank pages of his books and she read and re-read them while he washed the salty smell away. Then they would roll about for hours, overjoyed to no longer be alone, and sleep. Above all, and even in the end and after the end all they cared to do was sleep.