year abridged

i biked in the park on just the right day when the leaves were changing and the air was light. i played music i wrote on opa’s organ loud in his living room in the way he used to hate. i climbed to the top of a very tall hill and ate a cannoli. god i love cannolis. i heard the church bell tower toll nine and wondered why i was still in bed. it played a hymn i recognized so i listened and looked at the ceiling. i found half a pair of dentures in the ocean. i cried hard in front of my dad for the first time since i can remember. i ate a sandwich outside of a venue i was about to go to alone. i did this many times. the show was always good, not so for the sandwich. i drew a picture of my toes and recognized them. i took nana back to a room that wasn’t hers and told her i knew what it was like to feel crazy. she asked if it was because i felt i disappointed my parents. i stood under a fire escape in the rain and listened to my neighbor play the same honky tonk piano riff over and over again. i drank too much with people i love and freed some of my dwindling collection of secrets into public knowledge. i woke up in a tent with no rainfly, wrapped in a slow, clear wind from the lake. that was a good morning. i looked at myself upside down in a very clean spoon.