Entertaining the Unknown
San Jose Travel Blog› entry 12 of 47 › view all entries
For four days I have had this page with its promise of "letter" in front of me. After Michael--silence. Not that I've been staring at my un-letter in perplexity each of the past 96 hours. For the most part I have been studying Spanish, & generally adapting to the surroundings of Costa Rican society and the Costa Rican family with whom I am boarding [I have enrolled in a two week crash course in the language of
in the stillness
between the great-dictionary-shuffle, & manic gesticulations i stare at this page with your name as its heading
& i slip naked into the sensual white of paper blankness
so much like cream
its blue lines anticipating a thousand tongues
[my tongue on your skin being
a different story altogether
where words just don't cut it]
And it seems like such memories are always in parentheses. As if somehow those moments, that Sunday, our breathings and soundings escape the logic of a life sentence. Inhaling and exhaling separately: How you breathed my name when I caressed your body in the after. Another cream between my skin and your's. The smooth way fingers & thots glide into passion and instance.
But here I am now, in
& fuck, Michael. my time away from my old "here"s:
away from you; away from my family, my memories
away from you
away from my books, my studies
away from you
away from good friends and old winter jackets
away from you
my time aqui in this "here," it began with an earthquake...
aqui: open your ears to this world and learn how thunder does not come only with dark clouds. the hearing of an earthquake; conductor of trembling.
...always maintained i hated stability...
& Oh ya, they showed me a photo album, Michael, the day I arrived on their family doorstep. No more than a "me llamo" and a "buenos dias" on my lips. Pictures recording their smiles-for-the-camera. Sitting together on a couch, in front of a tree, by cakes, the children after first confession just a short time ago. Their faces, their thereness recorded over and over. Each one a sameness of being with a camera-is-pointed-purpose.
...Except there, on that page, between the hundreds of me-on-a bicycles and me-in-front-of-the-oceans, there's " eclipse total
kodak to television to sky
how many negatives does that make?
...& they throw it all at you so fast. 'Til your head is spinning like those little plastic tops that used to spin around your little plastic arena. Dizzy Lizzy & Tricky Nicky, clapping into each other and careening supremely in opposition: "muy bien"s and "nosotoros hablamos"es until "me llamo" becomes "una mejor playa" somewhere near Montezuma. "Zooma?" I'm thinkin'. "Hah! There's more than one eclipse in this scape."
Then, at lunch this afternoon, I say "Si me gusta mucha" "Yes I like it very much" in my broken Gringa Spanish. Patricia has served me fried ripe plantain, all the more sweet since it follows chili fried liver. "Si?" she beams at my enthusiasm, & proclaims plantain todos los dias.
"So" I'm thinking, "Aqui... Here. I get what I want. Given to me. Every day..." & in a flash your name pops up. Like a computer menu. Reminding me of paper blankness, and its Michael-promise-of-letter.
Now, a few hours later, there is no white cream blankness. Having been covered by my pen-tongue's wagging
tho, truth be told,
i'd prefer the other story
written on your skin