September, A Brief

I always think August is my favorite month, but then September comes with all it’s memories. Still in love, and wearing washable silk, and muggy, and full of heat, and bioluminescence, the sun setting earlier and earlier and with such force - electric pinks, and blues, and clouds for days, there is no choice but to stop, and look. The whole city blushing for a moment, and then darkness. A siren breaking through the morning and setting the coyotes off on their rounds. The body’s hair standing up on end, alive, alive. Catching a glimpse of the owl that lives in the field that filled with thistle, and foxtail, and wild mustard and not the flowers I scattered and was hoping for. Plum. My daughter says. And peach, and draw, and wow, and Kathleen. She says.

Historically there are fires.
And historically there is heartbreak and several highways.
Historically I am still seeking water.
Historically I have burned.

The days still feeling like summer, and never wanting summer to end.

I think a lot about the body and how it can hold so many things at once.

How September will always be the anniversary of spreading Leigh’s ashes, and getting some in my mouth. Painting it red. Taking my niece into the sea. Getting my period and putting a white dress on. A flat tire just outside of Santa Paula. Hearing it pop. Driving North to Santa Barbara. Trying to find someone to change it and getting married. Praying for a baby. September would always be Peter’s birthday. And E’s.

Taking my daughter to school. I think of the brilliant Fanny Howe and her talk on bewilderment where she says There is literally no way to express actions occurring simultaneously. And yet - and yet - if I for instance, want to tell you that a man I loved, who died, said he loved me on a curbstone in the snow, but this occurred in time after he died, and before he died, and will occur again in the future, I can’t say it grammatically. You would think I was talking about a ghost, or a hallucination, or a dream, when in fact, I was trying to convey the experience of a certain event as scattered and non-sequential.

I think of this as I sit down to write these missives. I think of this as I sit down to write my movie on growing up, my stories on motherhood. The incredible way living is so intertwined.

I also think of this photograph by Mark Power.

Fire In A Former Elementary School, 2018