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27 March 2018 @ 01:15 pm
and when force is gone, there's always mom  
the olive tree, the rose garden, the rock pit. that place of relentless white sage, still green in late january. that place where lavender does not thrive. one pussycat, once two, before that three. three before ben and i moved to our apartment on the hill, this newer version of

meaning baltimore, that city i claimed (when it's not claiming me) our relationship: tempestuous, tumultuous, ten thousand contradictions down the fold: what happens when, what happens where, what is

but a connection, a container, our evidence of the divine: just as it's that place we're most likely to take a shit. home is all of us. every aspect. all our names: legal, diminutive, derogatory: also those names we can't yet speak. i've named home as home names me. i call home as home calls me. called home, i wonder: what will be my name this time? what is this mystery, this deeper drawing in, this matter i've been staring at my whole life through without really looking at?