San Francisco
I opened the terrace door to lock the outside gate. The crickets’ dark serenade transported me to childhood nights... sleepless nights spent listening to their song… an ever comforting song that shrilly whispered, this is home and in its certain embrace calmed my restless heart as I drifted off into a land of dreams, an escape from the suffocating reality that was childhood...
... but that was then...
As I fumbled with the keys, for a split moment, the night engulfed me and in its dark embrace I was atop my stoop, on Bush Street, walking down the worn-in, wooden steps of our 1900 Edwardian building... familiar with every crack, with the feel of each unique step and the maneuvering required as I entrusted it with my body’s weight whilst avoiding every potentially dangerous irregularity all as one breathes without giving the act a second thought... I stepped off the last, ever-creaking step into the fresh, crisp San Francisco night which greeted me with its habitual chilly kiss and dissipated, all too quickly, into fog...
... fog in outstretched hands yearning for home but which are now busied with the task of fitting keys in a lock meant to imprison, heart heavy and fresh off a crisp smack of mist on my hands... yet another night away from home... yet another night paralized by a song that belongs to a woman that I am no more, a woman I buried long before I knew of her demise whose life and desire once mapped out the life I currently live that is no longer my own... the shedding of skin marks my search for that tiny glimmer of hope, for that flicker of light in the ever engulfing darkness that shall show me the path back home as I stand on a photo album of weathered, aged pictures of long ago, that fade with each multicolor breath I take as I...
... technicolor me in motion atop of a yesterday that never sleeps, search for the elusive path to tomorrow, away from the sepia memory of a long-forgotten archive of my now...
... away from this sweltering heat that does nothing but melt the desperate longing for yet another chilly kiss that was once the silent song that filled my nights, safely lulling me to sleep, and that is no more in this land of transparent cricket wardens, lurking in the dark... nothing more than an ever fading promise that holds no weight as it drifts off back into a past of San Francisco nights as I...
... I weep behind my smile, weep at the duality of a recent past that is to be my tomorrow... someday... fighting to fuel sincerity into the act as I place both feet on the ground and ready myself for the long and arduous task that is to be my journey back home... thankful, at least, that home now has a name.
... but that was then...
As I fumbled with the keys, for a split moment, the night engulfed me and in its dark embrace I was atop my stoop, on Bush Street, walking down the worn-in, wooden steps of our 1900 Edwardian building... familiar with every crack, with the feel of each unique step and the maneuvering required as I entrusted it with my body’s weight whilst avoiding every potentially dangerous irregularity all as one breathes without giving the act a second thought... I stepped off the last, ever-creaking step into the fresh, crisp San Francisco night which greeted me with its habitual chilly kiss and dissipated, all too quickly, into fog...
... fog in outstretched hands yearning for home but which are now busied with the task of fitting keys in a lock meant to imprison, heart heavy and fresh off a crisp smack of mist on my hands... yet another night away from home... yet another night paralized by a song that belongs to a woman that I am no more, a woman I buried long before I knew of her demise whose life and desire once mapped out the life I currently live that is no longer my own... the shedding of skin marks my search for that tiny glimmer of hope, for that flicker of light in the ever engulfing darkness that shall show me the path back home as I stand on a photo album of weathered, aged pictures of long ago, that fade with each multicolor breath I take as I...
... technicolor me in motion atop of a yesterday that never sleeps, search for the elusive path to tomorrow, away from the sepia memory of a long-forgotten archive of my now...
... away from this sweltering heat that does nothing but melt the desperate longing for yet another chilly kiss that was once the silent song that filled my nights, safely lulling me to sleep, and that is no more in this land of transparent cricket wardens, lurking in the dark... nothing more than an ever fading promise that holds no weight as it drifts off back into a past of San Francisco nights as I...
... I weep behind my smile, weep at the duality of a recent past that is to be my tomorrow... someday... fighting to fuel sincerity into the act as I place both feet on the ground and ready myself for the long and arduous task that is to be my journey back home... thankful, at least, that home now has a name.
8 Comments:
Beautiful.
i'm liking the pink place.
"... away from this sweltering heat that does nothing but melt the desperate longing for yet another chilly kiss that was once the silent song that filled my nights, ...
... I weep behind my smile, weep at the duality of a recent past that is to be my tomorrow... someday... "
Oh she who has my heart, now you have my tears as well. This is beauty. Thankful beauty.
Namaste
~Lady
Truly truly beautiful. Am conflicted as I love MizB's Rhapsody, but into the pink, is so pinkly wonderful
Incredible phrasing--love it, and makes me yearn for more--think anonymous who sounds a lot like Cooper said it best
"I'm liking the pink place." "Fuck"--just goes
And is very inspirational
ohhhh i know this pain and this sweetness. godspeed your journey
Mama E~ How fitting that you are first, especially on this post! And thank you so much for the sweet, sweet words of encouragement. You know, other than my then professor back at SFSU, you and WW were the only ones who ever got to read that journal and all my poetry! So this piece is new but those old pieces will be eventually making their way here, as a way to store them somewhere and have them out there, for me to be reacquainted with and maybe tweak away again which is something I have avoided doing for about 6 years now! And it means a lot to me that you, who knows me from back then, read the words here as you, more than anyone else, can probably have a very clear and definite idea what a lot of the stuff here means! So thank you my sweet Mama E! I just love you to pieces!
Kat~ Thank you.
Anonymous~ Oooh! Gracias!
Cooper~ Will do fo sho! Ha, ha, haaa! ;-P
Lady~ ... and I will treasure them like the precious gems that they are dear Lady! Gracias! And Namaste to you too!
Pia~ I am always honored and flattered by anything of mine that pleases you dear one! Don't be conflicted it, just means you like all sides of me! Oooh! And that is just such a high I tell you!
As for Coop, the girl does have a way with words and "Fuck" is always appropriate with bohemians wouldn't you say?
Jromer~ Thank you my dear friend!
Most Adored BoheMian: you turn yourself inside out... and it is, indeed, a thing of beauty to behold! they say you can never go back, but it's clear to me you never truly left...
like Pia, i adore Miz B' Rhapsody, but find this quiet writing to be so beautiful and real. you, only *more* so. deeper. certainly more pink.
lovelylovelylovely. truly lovely, and wonderful, just like you! xox
My dearest Neva, no I don't think I ever truly left either, nor that I will anytime soon, if ever. I truly did leave my heart in San Francisco and hope to goodness it serves me in getting my body back over there to reclaim it! It has been two years, 6 months and 9 days and yeah, the pull is still as strong as ever.
I am so happy that you of all people, my dear, enlightened, breathtaking and inspiring friend, like this place! I do love seeing you here!
All my love always and muchos besos!
Me!
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