Tuesday, August 21, 2012

see and don't see

To say it doesn't sting a little would be lying, to say goodbye, to try to store away that confusion of feeling, because it's not quite unrequited affection, not enough history to truly miss much, all this is impossible to make sense of, in the aftermath there's so much left un-understood. It's not really this, it's just the firstworldproblems angst rearing its head again. It's make more sense if it felt like there were actual reasons, as such there are none, just the converging of ephemeral dreams constantly deferred.


  1. To paraphrase a great moment in television history, you dreamed your best and failed miserably. The lesson is, never dream.

  2. I think of Wind and her wild ways the year we had nothing to lose and lost it anyway in the cursed country of the fox. We still talk about that winter, how the cold froze imaginary buffalo on the stuffed horizon of snowbanks. The haunting voices of the starved and mutilated broke fences, crashed our thermostat dreams, and we couldn’t stand it one more time.So once again we lost a winter in stubborn memory, walked through cheap apartment walls, skated through fields of ghosts into a town that never wanted us, in the epic search for grace.

    Like Coyote, like Rabbit, we could not contain our terror and clowned our way through a season of false midnights. We had to swallow that town with laughter, so it would go down easy as honey. And one morning as the sun struggled to break ice, and our dreams had found us with coffee and pancakes in a truck stop along Highway 80, we found grace.

    I could say grace was a woman with time on her hands, or a white buffalo escaped from memory. But in that dingy light it was a promise of balance. We once again understood the talk of animals, and spring was lean and hungry with the hope of children and corn.

    I would like to say, with grace, we picked ourselves up and walked into the spring thaw. We didn’t; the next season was worse. You went home to Leech Lake to work with the tribe and I went south. And, Wind, I am still crazy. I know there is something larger than the memory of a dispossessed people. We have seen it.

    Joy Harjo “Grace” from In Mad Love and War