Most of you know of my love—I’m-going-to-pull-every-single-one-of-your-freaking-feathers-you-thieving-bastard relationship with certain blue jay. Well, I guess, this is truer for those of you who follow me on Facebook, where I do much of my ranting.
My blue jay fiend hasn’t been around lately. I’m sort of worried about him. I wonder if he has been finally put in his place by a mad pigeon who has already claimed some of his head feathers. To think of it, the pigeon has also been MIA. The bees, too…
I wouldn’t mind it too much, if the blue jay finds another urban garden to terrorize. But I would miss the cooing of the pigeons. And if they leave, I would miss out on some gifts—the bloom below was dropped into one of my pots by one of them.
Lately, I’ve had issues with certain people (a few men and a couple of women) who felt it necessary to share some of their rather inappropriate and somewhat disgusting romantic feelings towards me, which they say were inspired by my words. Since none can control how art affects others, I’ve done my best to ignore these things. Some of the reactions are quite humorous (goodness knows Emma has a blast comforting me).
But the more disturbing ones were starting to get to me. So much so, that I almost considered rethinking some of the topics that feed my poetry and prose… Then, an Instagram friend said, “Your words have been getting me through a TOUGH week, lady. My grandma passed away last week and my family on that side can be cold. It’s been tough but your words and posts have really helped THANK YOU.”
I know grief. I’ve felt it crack my rib cage open, leaving my heart exposed. Hearing that I’ve helped soothe some of that pain for another, convinced me not to change a thing about the writing I post online. For I, who has kissed loss on the mouth, have also danced with hope… and hope is a delightful thing to spread, to feed into poems.
from “Loving You through the Veil”
The bean, which I accidently on purpose planted in my Montauk daisy pot, is about to offer a harvest. Go on, laugh. You are allowed. I giggle wildly every time I look at the pods… mostly because I completely plan to cook the three beans growing in it.
One of my friends and I have been discussing the nature of relationships—that wild dance of give and take, which would never work if those involved don’t respect and understand each other’s wants and needs. Remnants of those conversations were in my mind, while I crafted the blackout below. I believe in those words. When passion is mixed with thinking and loving and compromise, the horrors that tend to destroy relationships become conquered monsters to laugh at, topics of which to say, “Look at what we can do together, baby. Let’s do more.”
the heights of passion
will destroy ego, Honey.
there’s nothing sexier.
The gift from the pigeon (or from some other bird) has just bloomed. I used to think that it was a sunflower. But it’s very tiny (the size of a silver dollar) so I’m no longer sure. But it doesn’t matter much… You see, my Wicked Luvs, I believe that when it comes to feathered thieves and to art and to relationships and to life’s little (and big) surprises, the nature of the thing isn’t as important as what the thing makes us feel.
I’m feeling good, good, great…