He’d broken his ankle. I could feel the bone grinding when I set it. I was asleep, yet this was real. Sensation traveling through flesh to sink into my hands with striking clarity. It had the grit of sand on concrete, the heavy sound of pain muffled by meat. Under the skin was turning green and blue, shot through with spidered red.
I’ve been cleaning haphazardly during lulls in work for the get together tonight. Poets flooding the apartment, mostly people I only know by name and face. I stayed up until too late last night sorting through pictures of the show for them. I’m wondering now what sort of strange impression I must be giving. Yesterday I was late meeting people before the show because I helped an old lady carry her groceries home. How.. old fashioned of me. Maybe yesterday I was an antique, charitable and smiling. Today I’m only chilly, wrapped in a blanket, forcing myself to type with stiffening fingers. I keep expecting letters, spilled from the trembling minds of my loves. My hope is holding me up today, it’s driving the blood through my body, but not enough to keep me from cold. There hasn’t been sung one singular note.
I talked to Mishka today. She called long distance from Invermere. She’ll be back in Victoria well before the days I’ll be there, the 23rd, 24th, and 25th. We talked about relationships, it’s really the most common ground, her track record of assholes. “This one’s not as bad as the others” she says, and I cringe. “It’s not the way to judge people, a partner,” I say. “Their worth should be apparent without such comparison.” Do you love him? Would you know if you did? She’s too far away for me to help very much anymore. It’s been six months, I expect to answer the phone to her crying some time in the springtime. It will be sweet to see her, to let her release her litany of worries in my general direction. Is there anyone in Victoria who would like to go for coffee or to a play?