Ten miles to anything - #50

There is singing in this essay.

This week is a little unconventional. I hope you like elements of it. It starts with a poem, bleeds into an essay, and then at the end, I turned the poem into a song. This is me at my most artistically vulnerable, so… bear with me.

Ten miles to anything

Somewhere there’s a leak
And an email comes through
“Please check your water, 
There’s a leak” 
Then I am outside 
With everyone else
Checking hoses
Saying hi 

A passer through passes through
Much too quickly
A cloud of dust and an engine
So loud
And I in my socks and my sandals
My cutoffs my hat
My wine and my phone
Yelling
Slow down! Slow down!
The speed limit is 10 
Like the dogs
Like the kids
I’m watching

They do not care to see.

Somewhere there’s an email
But the power is out
The coffees were made
The feeder half empty
Sun high and clouds far
Maybe someone will fix it
But there’s a grill outside 
A pile of half read books
A pile of half written—
Anyway 
They’ll come around
It’s a slow town

A passer through passes through
Much too quickly
Feathers of rust and a jangle in their wings
So loud
And I in my house
In my blankets 
With my pets
Yelling
Look now! Look now!
The hummers are here
For the flowers
For the sweets
I’m looking

And they are looking back.

Somewhere there’s power
Not in this town or the next
But there’s gas in the truck
And a little in my legs
So I climb a mountain 
And my chest splits open
Heaving in the thin air
And the sky splits open
Cleaving through the thin air
We split til we pile til I see the truck
And my legs take me home
Slowing down
Slow to town 
Ten miles an hour

Ten miles to anything.

A passer through passes through
Much too quickly
She asks
“Are you happy?
Are you sure?”
So quiet
And I in my joy
In the dirt 
In the rain 
Yelling
I love you! I love you!
She’s leaving soon
With her light
With her love
I’m seeing

And she’s crossing
Saying
Slow down

Somewhere there’s a town
With flowers hip high 
The water’s leaking 
The power’s out
And everyone’s outside
Humming some of version of
Ten miles to anything 
Ten miles to town
And all there is to do
Is slow down

For my beloved grandma, née Salvatrice Nobile, also known as Sally “Sally Serotonin” Butterfield. Someone’s been waiting for you for a very long time. If you do happen to pass through, give him a hug and a kiss when you see him. 

I hope a break in the essays is welcome. I know poetry isn’t for everyone, and really, it’s rarely for me. But this week, I had to consider life, and I’m afraid poetry is my best tool for deep work. It was my grandma’s birthday on the 3rd. She hit an impressive 95. Then, on the 6th, my mom called. Hospice had arrived. Hours were waning. This isn’t the first time this call came — she’s been on her way out for a long time, eager to reunite with her husband, long since passed.

A couple months ago, I had a dream, or if you’re Sicilian, a visitation. I was in a spooky but enchanting old hotel, like the set of the Addams Family, and my family was preparing for a big party for my mom. My grandfather was there but I knew he shouldn’t be. I knew he’d died decades ago. I went to tell my father, and he said, “don’t tell mom yet, she has a big day. He doesn’t know he’s dead, and it’s fragile, so be quiet.” So I spent the evening watching him make drinks, carrying around books and laughing. He looked so happy. I woke up in tears. 

I don’t have religion. I have connective tissue. I have the moments when I put my bare hands to the ground to let it know I’m still here, watching, looking, seeing. Maybe a light will dim when this arrives in your inbox. Maybe it won’t. Maybe, despite all her hoping, she’s got some living left to do. But other lights will flicker and fade when we’re filling the tank, out getting bread, turning on the TV. 

My grandmother doesn’t know I live here. By the time I found this home, her ability to retain new memories had left. She was living in some version of the past, letting it hold her. Even when the memories stuck, she was never quite sure what I was doing, with the internetness of it. She didn’t care, though. She’d narrow her eyes and lean in, just in case someone was around I might be lying for, and she’d ask, “are you happy? Are you sure?”

I’m on the patio, facing west, watching the clouds carry a rain for someone else. The toadflax is in bloom and I’ll need to weed and bag it tomorrow, but for now, I enjoy them. They’re beautiful. The hummers are still rioting in the air, full of sugar and energy. The kitten is asleep on the rocking chair next to me. My legs are sore from running. My shoulders are burnt from the sun. And my eyes — my eyes are tired.

But I am happy, and I am sure.

---

That poem inspired me to write a song. It’s called “Slow Down Town” and it’s been a long time since I shared a song that wasn’t written as a joke or as a Disney villain. I’m a little rusty, but I do hope you like it.

Passing through.