Writings

mi corazon

and so she called me, and i went to her office, drove in the rain, sat with wet hair in the chair with the slick smooth arms, and bit my bottom lip. and then she smiled. results are good, she says. the treatment is working. as of today, there is no cancer.
so we will keep watch, because that is how these things go.
but today, results came back. clear.
today, the treatment is working.
today, i do not have cancer.

i went to the hardware store. because i didn't know what to do and it's one of my favorite places, anywhere. and i sat there, in the aisles of wood planks and beams, sat in the beautiful smell of paint and pine and metal hinges, and softness of sawdust, and cried so hard my body ached.
"are you ok?" he is asking me, the older man who is working there, his hands wearing thick work gloves. i'm nodding my head. "yes," i cry. "i'm just happy. i'm so so happy." and i don't even know if my words are decipherable. his face cracks. and he sits down next to me, and i just cry until i'm done.

i don't know what comes next.
but the weight of waiting has lifted. now it is life that is waiting for me.
so i'm walking into her, with all of me. and i will put my hands in dirt and plant things. i will dance on the tables and feast on words. i will offer my devotion, to this alter of hearts i call my own. i will unfasten and love the loosening. i will be here.

this is what i do know. there is no cure. for anything. but there is so much life. it is gory and glorious. and all i can say to her is thank you. i choose you. all of you. 
 

A kind of light spread out from her. and everything changed color. And the world opened out. And a day was good to awaken to. And there were no limits to anything. And the the people of the world were good and handsome.
And i was not afraid anymore.
— John Steinbeck, "East of Eden"