My words lately have been lists: rows and columns of commodities, sundries, tasks like haircuts and ‘sweep the rug’ that feel so sanitized.
But maybe in all the spaces between action: sweep, chop, shop, make, do: I’m making a map of how you can find me after all the things I have to do are done.
Weddings and birthdays and funerals are doors, ushering us back to ‘When did I see you last?’ and ‘when will I see you again?’ I pause the doing to attend. It reminds us of who we were when we met and it breaks our collective hearts to think of who we will be and won’t be when we meet again, one million groceries bought between your 25th birthday and when you get married, 40 haircuts between your mother’s funeral and the birth of your child.
And if life is just walking each other home and saying I love you before falling asleep, then making the map of lists: rows and columns of groceries, plant the garden, stare out the window: are the most important words I’ll ever write.
“We are what we are, you are what you are, love us if you can.”