DO WHAT YOU CAN, WHEN YOU CAN

By Lindy Giusta

Where I sleep piles of Fall clothes lie there, in a rapid flash, it now feels like Winter. I have started to wear my black jackets. There is one I call my "intermediate" and one my "Antarctica", I stumble with the hangers trying to choose, often choosing the wrong one.

  I like the changing seasons, and paying respect to the rhythmic waves, but the transitions are feeling erratic. Clothes heaped up, confused, some kind of growing mountain.

I was talking with my mother on my cracked phone. I told her that things are not always as they were:

A darkened collective forcefield shrouds the air. I feel something on the rise. A different energy on each train, a feeling of societal collapse, that we’re all in it together, but we’re all so separated.

A woman on the street yesterday walked past, "God Bless You" she said after looking at me, while another sneered with an icy glare. I know that God does not need to bless me while wearing a black Dolly Parton shirt and emerald, green eye shadow.

At that moment, talking to my mother, my hands could put away clothes, and I did what I could.

Last night…

my hands played a melancholic strum pattern by the purple hued light of two Tiffany lamps, dim, dark, just a little ominous.

6 pm, feels like midnight the black night sky creeping into my window and then capturing it. Time does not clock anymore, but I am not sure that it ever did.

I remember the windmill farm one passes on their way from San Diego to the desert. Somehow in that moment it felt relevant.

            Everything interconnected, trying to make sense of it all, this quote with that color pop, this prompt with that paint, I carry supplies with me everywhere I go. My back, the army, my backpack the imagination.

Change and possibility flash and flair, I prepare for an energy battle while trying to capture one firefly with a net in a Southern breeze.

#darkpoetsclub