hello, dear friend. a century might have passed since i last sat down to write. here is an update: my dissertation is a jealous lover & our relationship is bordering on insufferable. my life is catapulting into the stratosphere at the moment and i am both naive and sincere enough to trust the turbulence. i’m writing music again. my heart is bruised, but not broken. i’m also losing my mind, so there’s that. but all is well and i’m glad to be here. please enjoy this ceremonious poem i wrote <3
(It mattered to me)
I’ve seen the colour blue, everywhere I go.
It’s caught in the light, above the window pane and on the tattered box of statin pills I mishandle when I’m frustrated.
A light periwinkle dress hung on my closet door,
the Bible perched beneath it,
on the floor.
It’s everywhere, and I’m upset,
you’re everywhere, and.
(It mattered to me)
My handwriting has changed.
It’s harder to discern what the problem is when everything is written like that-
like a young woman with too much to give, and upset at the giving hands that seem to move on their own accord. This handwriting of mine is curling to the left, following the edge of the desk, where I listened to you tell me about the apocalypse on the phone and then I Googled bible verses about anxiety Without a doubt,
seeing herself to the alter- these hands of mine, that write like that will see me to the alter.
(It mattered to me)
My charger head is royal blue.
It doesn’t work and lately, nothing works, so I fall asleep and dream of things- high school court yards, and calendars, and teams of four, who account for one another, and a union between woman and woman, who account for one another, and the silence, which accounts for me. It's not working and therefore it will die.
and I want it to, deep down, but it will worry my parents, so I run to the
royal blue charger head and part of me wonders if you sent a message. And this all reminds me of a time, where my profesor told me that I was not allowed to say, therefore, because it carries too much finality for something I cannot be sure of yet. I realise now, that this was not a lesson about assumptive finalities, or endings. It was about hope and yes, I said therefore, but now it is an assumptive hope.
(It mattered to me) I love the colour blue.
when i wrote this, i wasn’t chasing catharsis or pity; just something true. that felt necessary to say, even if i know it isn’t... not completely. a lot has come into focus since this month began, but the motion of it all has been hard to anticipate. measuring things has always come naturally to me, so this state of reach i’ve been in feels new—and slightly frustrating. God knows what i’m reaching for. but with these fingers, scarred from checking my blood sugar all the time, i figure i might as well reach for the unknown anyway.
lately, my fascination with the colour blue has been growing. fast. i see it everywhere, and i’m drawn to it while i cook, play Sims, highlight lines in my journal, etc. this, like many things (as my mother always says), is spiritual. there’s something in this colour i need to sit with for a while. it shaped the rhythm of the poem because i wanted it to move like choppy water. it doesn’t always speak directly, but it lingers in the foreground, just as i hoped. i find that terrifying, honestly. even the music i’ve been listening to feels dipped in blue. Joni Mitchell’s California has been on constant repeat. the way she sings about coming back to something she’s always known and loved: the journey makes her fond of the familiar, but not addicted to it? i’m obsessed. and when i’m not listening to that hymn, i’m crying with Faye Webster on Underdressed at the Symphony.
what is it about this colour that seems to hold the world? maybe it’s some speculative form of Atlas, holding me up. i’ll figure it out soon enough. and if i don’t, i’ll still love it just the same.
maybe what i’m trying to say is: this poem is about the colour blue. and it’s also about April. and the vapid nature of serious conversations. and also, love.
yours,
Thando. x
some honourable mentions:
this is a shameless shout-out. there’s a sick-ass group, 12 Dogs, i got put onto by a darling friend (hello, angel <3) and it’s imperative that you listen to them. seriously, the world could end in a million years if you don’t. and also, i wear this badge of recommendation like a lovesick puppy… let the wordplay land, i’m a genius.
