There is a hydrangea, there is a hollyhock
I dreamed of you; I’ll keep dreaming until you realize
Until we in our fallible humanness realize.
I reach out to touch a wisp of hair, a single curl
An arm comes around my bicep
When I turn under my arm and look back at this town, will it not have changed as much as it ought to have?
What can we learn that we can only learn from youth?
How can we celebrate what is so rich without crushing taking breaking claiming?
I fell down the stairs
I crumpled my metro card
I caught myself
My elbow hurts
I ended up here
How does it happen?
We are just filling the time until
Something magnificent happens.
Is always happening.
Death deserves its own uncovery
That’s like a discovery that’s been hiding under the surface
Flip over that large flat stone
And that discarded log
View the beetles and worms
Feed on the dead
From ashes to ashes
From dirt thus is life
I worry about you, up there
So far from the soil
When you fall, it will feel that much farther
I don’t think you’ve ever walked upon the gravel, descalços
I need you to like pain, just a little bit
Then, I think, we will be free to write the kingdom of our dreams
Here in reality
Short Poem for Dancing Bones
When is warmer, I want to know?
I want to work, to think and grow.
This March weather has me still and
Bound. I want to lie upon the ground.
I am the soil upon which the rest of my life grows. Once depleted forever gone. I am the gardener.
Does it feel good to till one’s own ribcage? Tear through the intercostals? Rip up the transverse obliques. What are you searching for, with this “tilling”?
The diaphragm underneath; the hummus of good clean soil depends on its layers of padding. Till up my body
take away my parka
feel fertile and free for just moments and then die.
Leave me uncovered. Leave me in a pile of leaves. Leave me buried in the earth and reap my bounty.
the pace with which we have been rattling
about is unsustainable
Go back to your childhood
cherry pick memories
get lost in a story
and don’t come out
unless it is to confront yourself
your adult self
in the true, physical world
You ask me if I will miss New York
New York the city – not the people
New York is the reason I am leaving New York Virginia is the reason I am coming home.
Today I wonder if I’ve been running from my future
The way I’ve never learned she ran
Did she know all along
What is means to stay in the house all day
And not come out?
Or at one point, like me, did she move to New York City?
I don’t know, I can’t remember
Both her life and my 5th grade project on it
Seem so long ago.
Why is it easier to gain weight than to lose it? Because the universe is expanding? Or simply because our lifestyle privileges one over the other? Or is it not easier at all? I have only ever felt the momentum to stay exactly as I am.
my move(s) back to Virginia
the first step in an agrarian lifestyle
twenty-first century style
this is politics.
this is choice.
this is real life.
Radiator, Hilary Easton + Co. May 13, 2017, 8pm. Gibney Dance, Agnes Varis Performing Arts Center, 280 Broadway, New York, NY
there’s a lot of space between my body and yours until there’s not
once you know what I’m doing are you still interested?
Is it interesting/ is it possible to write about dance/ art without writing about internal experience?
pretend until it becomes real
candy bars burning
you’re so cold I can’t touch you
burned the candy wrappers to keep me warm