i don't really keep a traditional journal or diary. i do, though, take copious notes: on my experiences, what i see, fragments of memory and details of what happened when i paid attention, random ideas and lists, lists of words and kinds of trees and ways of describing the dark.
for some time now, i also have named my heart every day. it is its own strange sort of journal or daily log. at the end of the month, there is some kind of story that has rambled its way onto the page. walking on my hands heart. poison ivy heart. orange glow of the cigarette lit in the dark heart. gravel heart. honeysuckle heart. and on and on it goes, each day, my hand held over my heart, listening to the name.
it is, i think, the longest running list i have ever kept.
i write it on note cards i number, and they are kept in my card catalog, under the tab named alter of hearts.
and as it is a list i am always writing, it is never complete. but here, today, are some names of the heart, my heart.
birch tree heart
sugared hands and salted limes heart.
sailor's knot heart, twined and twisted
horses running wild heart.
heart of spilled ink, strawberries and silk scarves.
salt water heart. savage heart. whispering secrets in the dark heart.
brick laying heart.
metal blades and snake skin heart.
water shaking against the shore heart.
heart of soft peach skin, part sweet part bite.
heart of hip bones and clay.
gravity heart, bringing me back to solid ground.
ache in the back of my heated throat heart.
heart like a flickering neon sign, like good medicine, like veins of aquamarine and onyx,
like a thunderstorm, crashing and then calm.