Dru Blood - I believe in the inherent goodness of all beings: June

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June

May 2, 2004

I'm lying here in the station
Stretching out on the tracks
For all the possible places that I might arrive -Camper Van Beethoven.

I remember a coffee shop in Rogers Park. What was it called? We used to go and play old Maid while everyone around us played backgammon and chess. And one night, open mike night, I wasn't there, but I heard the story. All of my friends signed up, one after the other, and read poems about "June" - a fictional lover.

June is the birthmonth of my sweetie. I know it's may now, but I'm thinking about June because of that camper van beethoven song:

"And I wrote you this letter, cuz
the clothes were hung on the line
And the crows flew out of the field
and up in
to the sky."

Because I am. I'm stretched on those tracks and I'm writing those words and mailing them off. Again. And I haven't felt this kind of stirring since those days of mad excitement. The excitement isn't there, but the stirring is immense.

I remember my first boyfriend. My only request of him was that one day he would maybe take me out to a vast field where there was nothing in sight for miles. Just flat and grass and blue sky above. I wanted him to take me to a great, empty field and lay there, holding my hand, staring up at the sky. He never did, and I totally forgot about that longing. I never questioned it then. Now I know. Staring up at the sky, the neverendingness. Not having to speak a word. These are all things I thought were unrealistic fantasies. These are all things I folded up neatly and packed in a box and shipped to that coffee shop where my friends recited poems about imaginary lovers.

I'm relearning my dreams. I had them memorized, and then forgot them. They come back to me in strains of songs. Like little pebbles dropped from chubby hands, steering me home. I expand to encompass and exhale flowers and butterflies. A touch becomes liquid emotion, and I burst into tears, wondering what I've been doing all of this time. Setting myself right is the hardest thing. I fall and fall and fall and fall, and though it's delightful I don't know where I'm going to hit.

June

Are you weary of the lengthening days?
Do you secretly wish for November's rain?
And the harvest moon top reign in the sky (now that it's June)
There is nothing in this world more bitter than Spring
Now I wrote you this letter
Because the clothes were hung on the line
And the crows flew out of the field
And up into the sky
I'm lying here in the station
Stretching out on the tracks
For all the possible places that I might arrive
There is nothing in this world more bitter than love
In all those long days of June
Bring me the long, brown grass now that it's dry
There is nothing in this world more bitter than Spring

Posted at May 2, 2004 11:27 AM

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Comments

Dru - you are the bomb! I love how your words carry me away, remind me. Oh god, it's true - "setting myself right is the hardest thing."

Posted by: Janine at May 2, 2004 2:29 PM