oxygenate

Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash | oxygenate | sanguinemeander

i love pain – not necessarily the surface-infliction of it, but the bowel-deep pain that stirs emotions and kind of throws them all together as they start moving their way out. catharsis ache. i used to resort only to orgasm for this until i discovered that this kind of  pain makes orgasms even better. it takes a little longer, but longer and deeper is the point (girth is nice too — if i’m going there, i am definitely a size queen).

other expressions like this: on an evening last week when i was writing,  shit was getting serious and i was there in that zone when a large and strange spider crawled across my lap. i lost myself and everything went flying with a shriek. there was a moment of limbo, my 1940s art deco coffee table with its original glass panes and a chromebook and time stopped but then nothing connected. the little laptop landed in a papa-san chair full of pillows and the spider jumped or fell to the floor and wandered off to a less chaotic part of the living room and then i collected myself and sat back down, lighter.

another once had its place here in this paragraph but i lost it while writing the last.

ah yes, it was that time my car went spinning on the highway. a friend and i, on a day trip from Portland to the Oregon coast, were coming home when i hit a patch of black ice with near-bald tires. the car spun in circles in slow motion and Ben and i looked at each other calmly as if we might be about to die. the car came to a standstill with its ass stuck in a snowdrift and before i could even call AAA, a Mexican guy pulled over in a very large pickup truck and winched us out and we had faced death with the utmost in resolve and acceptance and ten minutes later we were continuing on back to portland and it was like it never happened and it also changed everything.

i breathe more deeply after having suffered a little. the process of catharsis is a birthing process. the end result, that great release, is where our focus lies. it makes it easy to forget how much it can hurt along the way but somewhere in the trying of that, i figured out how embrace the pain. i learned to love it. it became ecstasy.

ultralight

Photo by Jason Wong on Unsplash | Ultralight on Cordella magazine's Field Notes | Sanguine Meander

In an emergency, a crayon will light for thirty minutes.
In an emergence, rainbow votives held high
refract prisms on walls and in the sky, flying flares
detract from heat-seeking missiles and take the blame.

Grateful for aim and gasping for breath,
thanks to lighthouses and harbingers
we have escaped death and burn with purpose
like a California wildfire fueled by fierce winds,
choosing our victims with a logic only known
by three-hundred-foot tall flames that take
everything in their wake by storm.

Our prayers reside in droplets of rain
hovering over clouds of smoke that move
from here to New Jersey and wind up
on the news, coating everything in fear
and soot, the tears of mothers dripping down
on things we could no longer protect,
dirty black rivulets making their way south.

Enlightened by loss we remove the handles
from toothbrushes to take every last ounce
of weight off our backs, to ease the days
spent on trails that are thousands of miles long;

Somewhere, someone has recorded all this
for posterity, hoping someone will be alive
to grasp these leftover asphalt thoroughfares,
remnants of dams and plastic hills,
miscellaneous bits of things we left behind
in our attempts to run from ourselves—

Unidentifiable trinkets that melted together
to block the natural paths of rivers
until they forgot how to flow to the ocean.