in the early eve of your day
Dec. 6th, 2001 06:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aslantwake: uneven hours of cousins, tears, photos. a stark funeral home of brick and soft pastels, tasteful curtains, lighting.
funeral: ornate catholic mass, myrrh, both amazing grace and ave maria. i cry and cry and despise my neurotic grandmother, who tries to make me smile. the cousin with the waist-long brown hair talks about her and everyone loses it.
in the cemetary i walk around looking at all the barnards. down the hill are gravediggers who lean on their shovels and listen to the minister sing and remind us of salvation.
reception: i get quietly drunk with my cousin and talk about his skate board injuries. we look at endless photo albums of our parents as toddlers and hippies. i am satisfied with my entrance to funeral-land.
*
i dream of a house burning. a house made entirely of an empty ascending staircase. i dream of brain transplants. i dream of x, who i follow into a bar, attempt reconciliation. we kiss and my hair is shorn to the skin.
driving today there was a field with the shorn stubble of old corn, rows and rows of sodden furrows. the weather is unseasonably warm. behind the clumps of sod are thousands and thousands of crows, when i look closer.
the retreating views of sky, ribbons and grids of grey. on the bus down i watched it as if there were a text to be found there, the undulate quilt. an evening sky of creamsicle and grapefruit, ribbons of color sweeping out endlessly.
funeral: ornate catholic mass, myrrh, both amazing grace and ave maria. i cry and cry and despise my neurotic grandmother, who tries to make me smile. the cousin with the waist-long brown hair talks about her and everyone loses it.
in the cemetary i walk around looking at all the barnards. down the hill are gravediggers who lean on their shovels and listen to the minister sing and remind us of salvation.
reception: i get quietly drunk with my cousin and talk about his skate board injuries. we look at endless photo albums of our parents as toddlers and hippies. i am satisfied with my entrance to funeral-land.
*
i dream of a house burning. a house made entirely of an empty ascending staircase. i dream of brain transplants. i dream of x, who i follow into a bar, attempt reconciliation. we kiss and my hair is shorn to the skin.
driving today there was a field with the shorn stubble of old corn, rows and rows of sodden furrows. the weather is unseasonably warm. behind the clumps of sod are thousands and thousands of crows, when i look closer.
the retreating views of sky, ribbons and grids of grey. on the bus down i watched it as if there were a text to be found there, the undulate quilt. an evening sky of creamsicle and grapefruit, ribbons of color sweeping out endlessly.
