"my useless, uncalloused hands"

title from Cristina García's The Agüero Sisters.

The tension between intellectualizing and acting pervades my skin (until I'm crawling) every time I vere to some dyadic end. Wholeness in living requires some balancing act that is inevitably ungraceful. Maybe liminality (between work and thought) is like vulnerability in relationship; uncomfortable, but necessary and enriching (when you don't fight it).

I've had a perpetual layer of dirt under my fingernails since Saturday.
And I haven't been writing.
I swear, my body's been going through detox.

Tired of its "useless uncalloused hands."

Tired, too, of being by itself.

(The rabbithole is bright and magnetic, but best shared--lest you find yourself lost, and in danger of losing head).

Anyways, I'm off to ride my bicycle.
And Thursday, I'm going back to Good Earth Farm.
Farm-magic reminds me how simultaneously small and big I am,
and when I ride my bicycle, it always feels like I'm flying.
I like that.

Always,

L

weeds//sidewalk-cracks by Leslie Albanese is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.