Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

Doing laundry before dawn, listening to the Jungian podcast about divorce transformation

February 25, 2024 by BHW

Sheets will be fresh, unwrinkled when I fold myself alone into the middle of the bed.

Under the morning sky as it lights by degrees, clouds become visible, blushing pink,

distinct from the domed sky behind, I am tucked in

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With 90 seconds left on the Doomsday Clock

February 4, 2024 by BHW

Put down the sponge, walk away from the sink with dishes from today’s lunch: muhammara and hummus, olive-oil-dipped pita, organic arugula and Persian cucumber, a feast of Middle Eastern flavors needs not be tidied. I wonder about calling Mom, or my friends, wonder about lying down so that at least I’m snug in bed, but don’t want the beige popcorn ceiling to be the last image reflected on my corneas. Put down the phone, there’s nothing on Facebook worth checking. I still wonder about calling Mom, if this is what those Judeo-Christian admonishments were all about, wondering if one could actually die of guilt, or maybe it’s just dying “while guilty,” like driving while female, wonder what it means that a daughter doesn’t call her mother when the constant tick has started, thrumming my eardrums, crowding out the sound of this morning’s soft-breathed meditation, the way the slender yoga teacher eased into poses to create a sense of calm and release, not knowing there is no pose for this kind of surrender, the countdown to extinction, nothing of my flimsy life dreams and daily poetry practice can be fossilized, they have held no elements. I’ve had a rich banquet of memories, of love made with hands and lips, inked and spoken, savored and sipped, sung and danced, none of which will survive, but oh, today’s lunch was delicious, in the late winter sun on the balcony, the hummingbird lazing at the feeder, unselfconsciously iridescent, both of us resting in peace.

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