33. Cary & Beaumont, Richmond, Virginia

October 7, 2014

To a You,

Today I hold captive this tongue

notoriously quick to split and spit venom

because today in the silence of this battered brain

I heard a most reasonable voice

urging me

with sounds so soft and humble

to be thankful.

Be thankful that you feel this Anger

it said

because this means you are saved.

Turn it inside out in your mind

instead of hurling it against your Lover

or your Mother

or your Children.

Hold this Anger up like a map

that shows you where to find yourself-

where you've been

where you never want to go again

where your boundaries are

and give thanks.

These words were a foreign language

to this dumb child

and the stretch of silence before I spoke

was an unfamiliar region

but I stayed there

until through a cell of broken teeth

I heard my tongue move in thanks.

Your Friend,

A

32. Mary Angelo's, Carytown, Richmond, Virginia

October 7, 2014

To You,

The wind speaks to the water in my body,

commanding it to move swiftly-

to cells sleeping and raw with violence.

My eyelids shiver in revolt 

at the stuttering slideshow 

delivered by breath both sweet and cold.

With forced resuscitation

this swirling savior screams- "Breathe!"

The wind doesn't comprehend the language of refusal.

It doesn't hear the sound excuses make-

That disappointing thump of No.

It's a rough lover,

forcing me to feel all things.

Because to accept the shape and smell and taste of all things 

Is to know both how small and how mighty I am.

Your Friend,

A

31. 7-11 on Beaumont & Cary, Richmond, Virginia

October 7, 2014

To You,

I am a fortunate child
fostered from a forgotten heap
by thought-filled architects who
send one hundred whispered wisdoms
into the empty cups of my ears
disrupting dusty abstraction
long settled in the hot air of my head.
One hundred pillow fingered hands
tilt my chin into light
and ease open locked jaws
to taste the fresh fruit and air
that will rouse my stagnant cells.

Your Friend, 

A

30. Random Words

29. Garnett's Cafe, Park Avenue, Richmond, Virginia

September 2014

To You,

I am almost 35 and completely uncertain about who I am supposed to be. I feel like I've always been searching for myself, never sure footed in my path. Lately I find that I have been thinking about my biological father, who I never had the chance to meet but heard was an excellent man. When he was 34 my father was a successful salesman, providing well for his wife and two sons. However, he had what's been described as an epiphany, realizing that he didn't want to be salesman. What he really wanted was to be a teacher, specifically a teacher who worked with autistic children. He enrolled in a Master's program and became a special education teacher. Three years later he laid down on the sofa to take a nap, had a stroke, and died. Today, I examine my current state and consider how my dreams don't quite match up with my reality. I think about the honorable decision that my father made and I hope that I can be that brave. The one lesson that I my father left me with is that I would rather falter, fail, or die doing something that I want to, than falter, fail, or die doing something that I don't.

Your Friend,
A

28. Lucky's Bike Shop, Meadow Street & Broad Street, Richmond, Virginia

September 2014

To You:

My job is moving boxes.

I lift them.

I carry them. 

I stack them.

It requires no mental acuteness

just force and motion.

I am a workhorse.

Once this was a source of shame.

A downfall.

A disgrace.

A disappointment.

A failure not exclusively my own

passed with bread at the family table.

But I'm not a simple beast.

Untaxed by trade my mind is free.

It's a resourceful explorer

wandering like a wild creature

not a broken brute.

Your Friend,

A

27. Diversity Thrift, Richmond, Virginia

September 2014

To You,

There are 1,013,913 words
moving in a current between my ears.
When I close my eyes to see inside myself
they spill out from my mouth
and are ejected from my fingertips.

There are 1,013,913 words
but sometimes there are only 3
Love
Hate
Fear
and in those times those words
each grow inside me like a child.

There are 1,013,913 words
but sometimes there are only 2
You
I
and in those times those words
seem to be enough.

Your Friend,
A

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To You,


In the foreword of Brave New World Aldous Huxley writes:

Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable
sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you
can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no
account brood over your wrong-doing. Rolling in the muck is not the best
way of getting clean.

As someone who has behaved badly, I felt great relief when I discovered this passage over two years ago. It was as though I had finally been given permission to stop pummeling myself, something any guilty person with a conscience would celebrate. However, I have found it surprisingly impossible to abide by Huxley's recommendation. I feel guilty for trying to cast off the guilt accrued for my collection of wrong-doing. It is as though there is an on-going debate between my past, present, and future selves. Past Self wields guilt in self-flagellation, arguing that my penance is my suffering. Future Self argues for change, suggesting that I can't be useful if I'm crippled by guilt. Present Self is humbled by confusion.

Your Friend,
A