your cities; three aye em fiction.  

rm_xsaturnine 31F
23 posts
6/19/2006 10:49 am

Last Read:
7/29/2006 9:50 pm

your cities; three aye em fiction.


They planted a skyline just to pin the gravel and the open air together, because separate things have always hurt us too much to be allowed to stay.

When we came we wove ourselves through the streets, reaching like fingers on desperate hands to find a place that would hold us, digging like those same fingers for the treasures of rush-hour traffic and rent controlled apartments, regular trash collection and underground trains.

You made your home in the city and I made my home in you; the curve of your spine or your lip or your eyebrow the roof of my church, the scent of you and the sound of you and the sight of you my population of strangers. You were my walls, my bricks and cement, my metal and glass and even the plastic window sill I sat my tenth-story garden on.

Some days all I can do is watch for feet that could be yours, even when I know you are at work and will be home when it’s time for it, will bound up the stairs and your key will still fit the door, your hand will still reach for the handle. The buildings of this city yawn around us, reaching out of the ground like the trees we both miss. I remember the night you woke up and told me you’d been having a dream where you swung a giant axe at a building until it fell and you could count its life by the rings inside it, rings of paper and computers and office chairs. The people, dazed and bruised like fruit, walked away smiling faintly, smiling in an off-key way like they wanted to thank you but didn’t know what for. No one was hurt, you said. No one ever got hurt.

There is a fear in me that keeps my days together, like muscle clinging to bone, like clothes that clutch at your skin when the rain is sudden and deep; I tie back my hair with it, an elastic band that doesn’t break no matter how hard I pull, and I tie my shoes with it and I brush my teeth with it and I write my stories with it. People, my fear tells me in the shower on the bus in the grocery store, get lost in big cities every day. People are lost to people through desire or its absence, through accident or caprice or bad luck. People, my fear whispers with its hand in the small of my back, sometimes just don’t come back. I check the newspaper for signs of your leaving, check your eyes when you are sitting across from me at the dinner table, check the depth of your breathing when you're gone from me in sleep, but every day you come back and every return is like the first, which is also like the last, which is also like a sound in the dark you can’t place. I graffiti maps of our street into your work shirts, onto your skin, leave notes that say “you are here” and hope they always remain true.

SirMounts 103M

7/14/2006 4:58 am

xsaturnine...
My, you have such a deeply expressive way of writing, xsaturnine.
Always extraordinarily illuminating, and moving. *smiling*


rm_xsaturnine 31F

7/17/2006 12:18 pm

    Quoting SirMounts:
    xsaturnine...
    My, you have such a deeply expressive way of writing, xsaturnine.
    Always extraordinarily illuminating, and moving. *smiling*
And you are going to spoil me with your compliments, Sir.

Thanks for stopping by.


SirMounts 103M

7/20/2006 11:59 pm

xsaturnine...
Well, you too are spoiling Me, with the consistantly high quality of your blog . *smiling warmly*


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