but i believe everything i make finds its way back to my collection of rain and their stories so i would like to share the first one with you...
DRAFT #1 the first home i built i named after the fly always clapping their hands over the strawberries beginning to cover themselves in snow and i was always jealous of all the tiny spaces they were able to move through. i built the home they swarmed slowly and regretted doing so when i came to find its door locked away with no warning. it had disappeared without me knowing and i wondered how long something i conceived of could be gone without me knowing. at the same time i have to say i was partially relieved from the realization i would no longer everyday be looking into a home i was building for no one to live in.
i decided the next home I built I would build fast. i would build it in a day. i went to a corner of a place with what was left of that home I could carry in my hands. i spent the day walking on gravel and as the gravel was cutting my feet i started to remember my mom telling me about a year when i was four when she was very angry with me because i thought we shouldn’t be walking on grass. i obviously had not considered all the things i was stepping on by stepping on anything. how in order to never hurt anything i would have to weigh zero pounds. so i continued to step on the grass and the gravel and the sand and the ants and the weeds and all the people underneath trying to pretend i wasn’t aware
at one point it rained and i watched the house get drenched. then it stopped and i watched the house get dried by the sun. i would say this was their official welcome to the earth despite the brief time which they were actually there.
of course this corner where i made a house where I built my bed from honey and where cicadas shells formed my windows, where purple onions could be sewn to make a purple blanket and everything made sense together was discarded from being as soon as i left
i’m positive I will never be able to make anything solid and i’m pretty sure my words are becoming more disparate with age but I also think if there is anything impenetrable it is probably the weaker structure. as i was writing on clothes i started to see that a lot of the time i just like the sound of certain words together and hope i can learn to justify my reasoning for them before someone asks me for an explanation
