Drown me in the river
And send my body to the ocean
Pull me with the currents
Pull me to the wild winds, send me home again, oh
Waves are breaking on the shorelines
And all the names I’ve ever borne are
Offered up on frozen winds
To catch in trees with branches bending
To my body, come to rest on roots sunk down into the water—
Coursing out across the ocean
Take me back, oh take me home—
Wake me, oh
Pull me from the river,
With the whispers ringing in my ears of names and shores
And roots sunk deep
And let me stand.
Music exists for this, but I'm happier with the lyrics, so here they are.
The circuits are misfiring.
She starts to speak and I let her words drop into silence; she starts to cry and I turn my back on her tears.
It shouldn’t be like this. There’s supposed to be enough love to last a lifetime, to keep the moon aloft, to do whatever it was the storybooks promised.
She’s seen my soul.
She’s seen my soul, but it’s not enough; her words grate and her touch burns. I pull away sharply, but she’s the one to gasp in pain
and it’s not her fault. She didn’t do anything wrong;
she just lives too intensely, is too intensely;...
They told me, stay out of the woods
there’s wolves out there, and strangers, dear,
and wouldn’t you be safer by the fire?
They told me to learn every word
and take it all as gospel, and that
it would keep me safe here in the dark.
They told me if I could just be
perfect, now, in every step, I’d please the gods
and then I would be free.
They told me that I had failed
and now the walls were caving in
and no one else could see me buried there.
They told me that this could be fixed
if I drew thin red lines like railroad ties
up and down my arms until...
A message appears: Let's try this again. Tears in my eyes, and breathless hope. A chance to go back in time. To start anew.
Of course, we won't. There are 8 years' worth of miles between here and 16, when we met, still mostly broken but aching for more. To be broken together, and to make ourselves whole.
We get another chance to stay. To keep this light from fading. I'll get on a train and I'll step out in the City, and I'll bite my lip and fill my lungs and say... what?
And I'll mean,
I've missed you.
And I'll mean,
Let's go back...
"And with that, I present to you... Anna Livingston!"
The curtain opens. She can't even see the audience; they're all one dark mass behind the too-bright lights. Her hands are shaking. They shouldn't be shaking. She knows it by heart. Except for that bit in dress rehearsal; the bit that fell apart. Damn it, Anna. Don't think about that part. Anything but that part.
They're waiting. They'd been shifting in their seats before the curtain came up, shifting through the emcee's words, as if nothing he could say was worth stilling for, not...
Today, I drove the Catskills in the pouring rain,leaving behind the ephemera of the valley-- fading paint and rusting cars and barns fallen down to kindling (now too soaked to set alight)-- to go up into the mountains, above the clouds, and I wanted nothing so much as to stay there, lost in the woods, among bare trees and rising streams and old stone walls, somewhere out of time.
Coming home, the sky came downwith fog as thick as the sea, and I sailed underwater in the solstice dusk through trees silhouetted in the sunless sky....