Finn says "I want to talk about things!" when we sit down in the morningtime. We are friends? he asks, often. Mama, we are friends? You're my mom? We are lonely? We make maps and pictures of snow. Rainy weird december days. Job interview! And now the waiting. . .Well what we do is, map and draw. Morningtimes have been at least somewhat consistent. I feel it is radical space, mom plus kid. Radical space of our creation. In fact all space seems like radical space . . .I am trying to create radical space in my life but it isn't easy and you already knew that. Sometimes as I write I listen to the whines of Finn. He grumble scratches--wants me to play. We play dinosaur island. Sometimes I realize how my attention is right here, exactly in the now, if I let it be. But I have to realize it. Loveliness of winter is right here: green wreath, which I decorate with red bells, pinecones, prairie grasses gone to seed, dried flowers. Writing poems from the perspectives of planets lately: Jupiter and Earth, to be exact. Here are some dirty windows and snowflakes looking in through the window; here are some windows/snowflakes/sunrisings looking out. Jupiter as a tall tree's heart; the other side of the snowflakes, our home at night; regular life too regular life; and a full moon rising near a grey gleaming windchime. As we draw and write, I ask Finn questions about where things live: Where does the sun live? In the grass. Where does water live? In the ocean. Where does pink live? In dragon's blood.
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