Monday, September 04, 2006

Eat Me

Where is the hunger?

I thought it was just me and we could talk when it was over; compare lab notes and decide. We wished each other luck and promised calls and kisses and laughing at these ridiculous times. We are separated, but for the moment, parallel. Then the vertigo and crackly long-distance suggested that while we’re in different provinces and on different paths, tonight at least we are in exactly the same place.

How are we forgettable? Who can size her up, take a chance, meet her and then walk away? And who can be so simply cavalier with me? Me! We both deserve a frantic, half-starved declaration, a clarion call, a statement. Where is the person who will not tolerate life without her?

Mine hopped on his black horse, flipped a lazy salute and rode east on another labour day a few years back. Hers went downward and inside and none of us are now the same. And there are more of course. But where are the ones who need us so much? And why don’t the ones we do encounter realize that we are necessary to sustain life? Where did he go? The one who would starve without me? Why did he leave? The one who sank below still crying out her name? Who are these strangers who want to get to know us and collect our names like scalps on a belt. Who are these strangers who want closeness just for a while?

We walk in tiny circles, half-dead but dreaming. With excruciating slowness the spiral mounts upwards, tiny step by tiny stumble. This is still healing. This is still rebuilding. This is still below in the dark place with no tools. This is still us making our own way out of the dirt and towards the rest of them. And where are they who are supposed to promise us that it will be alright? Where are those that know we will sustain ourselves and who can’t help but be around us as our paths converge? Where are the starving ones who can’t help but put their arms around us? Where are these people who know things will be sane again and who don’t mind repeating themselves if we need to hear it more than once?

How are we dismissed? How can he look at her and know her and turn his back? How can he look at me and thank me and go the other way? Who are these full stomachs who don’t need us? Who are these sated men in search of only mints and snickers? Where have our snapping jaws and trembling hands left us to be? Who are these people? And how are they content without us?

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