Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Photographs of God

Ezekiel 1

These γραφεύς—
gods in genesis
finding inherent chaos in every order:
collage, lyric and colligraph,
each existential scramble of gametes,
the origins of origami folds,
the maiden flurry of brushstrokes.

These makers of galaxies—
like Hindu arms of tessellation,
an organizational risk of dustpans and brooms,
eternal motes caught up in discus whirl,
dancing in the pale shaft of Sagan’s
blue dot and the reverie
of remembered stars.

How they master the elegant curl
of λ on the tongue,
the magnificent burst
of capillaries behind the first flash,
their alphabet scribbled across our breath,
holding true the rolling trill

of laughter and teeth.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Recurrent houses: an act of respiration

We dream in italics,
plying the wooden breath
from our chests,
as it moves in and out
of another ghost’s skin.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

PMDD and the internal struggle of reason over hormones

The week before my period, at least without Lithium or Ativan, is rough. One thing Mr. PNU has said repeatedly is that my nature to be self-reflective is highly attractive. It takes that tendency to get through unmedicated waves of mood changes, biological discomforts, animal urge and response, and the answer to the question, "Did the gametes hookup?" This month they did not. No surprise. With stress to the max, med changes, marital adjustment, more stress, and yes, even more stress, the cards were stacked against the odds that baby soup would simmering. So this morning I'm flowing, feeling much more like myself, happily ibuprofened into uterine calm, and breathing a private sigh of relief because if the last few days had been the beginning of pregnancy and more was to come, I was hating life. Mr. PNU says I do a fabulous job of boxing my proclivities to let the kindness win out. It hasn't been easy though, but the unmedicated fight can prove successful.

On a nearly unrelated note, my favorite word I've learned from Mr. PNU is libidinous.
One has to give in somewhere.

Monday, November 3, 2014

Without the big L—

The most difficult part of being med-free is determining whether the last 24 hours of feminine lacrimal activity is PMS or something quite the opposite. Otherwise, I am somewhat giddier, more at ease with my own language, and a touch more easily distracted. Read: Altogether happy, although I cried a lot yesterday.

I am also entirely in love with my husband; drowning in it, really. I saw him off to the Valley of Salt an hour and a half ago, and I am missing him terribly. This is made worse by the fact that if I'd remembered to complete a major editing task for Pie Tin's lit journal over the weekend, I could be with him. 

Instead, I am piecing together an email interview with a regional artist of significant renown in the LDS Church. I'll meet with this artist Thursday for a face-to-face follow-up. The journal has become the other half of my life. Even Greek has lagged nearly out of the picture. I'll be relieved and less weepy once this edition is put to bed and I can focus on not being puppetted at times by my advisor, or thrown beneath the cart whenever someone else on staff stops pulling their weight.

So I tell myself I have reason to be weepy. Even if I'm two days from 28.

Also, my house is a complete disaster. Who wouldn't cry over that?