To: Those Who Have Reached The Coming of Age

Dear Modernity,

The other day I saw the most beautiful couple. 

This woman, a trailing bright blue coat and chestnut brown ringlets tight on her scalp, walking hand in hand with her son. The father, plainly dressed and hurrying to cross the street, caught up with them, only to join their connection. Handfuls of hands testing their strength as they lifted their son up and down, and up and down, and up and down, until he broke out of their love with laughter. I thought how wonderful it is to be able to love without thought. 

There is a certain trace of grief felt when you realize your wants and needs have changed. And changed so fundamentally that you can never go back. The journey lies in objectivity and progress, but flips your insides out with an ease that you can only call growth. It begs for you to notice.

I want to be happy in the way that the river flows and finds constant peace in its unending motion. In the way that trees turn red, yellow, orange, and bare, just to come back alive in the spring, knowing that they were never really gone at all. In the way that the goose, swimming against the current, knows it will make it home at the end of the night. I want to be enveloped and protected by nature, and return to dust feeling completely whole. Even the rock that weathers against the tide locates itself under my step scrunched. 

The question now is: when will it happen? 

Whenever it does, I imagine that day to the one day of my life where there is no doubt and no hurt. There is only divine femininity and blue jays singing their songs as the river continues to run and never stop. The baby squirrels will only burrow under the leaves with acorn gifts for their mothers. Huitzilopochtli crystalizing me for the rest of time. 

With hope,

V.L.A.

P.S. Adrianne Lenker – Already Lost.  

To: All The People I Have Displaced In Stations (Some Formerly Known as Home)

Dear Home,

Today, I went on the best bus ride I have ever had. 

Upon entering, the tunes of 2018’s Top 50 Rap Songs followed me to my seat, reverberating off  the few others whom I shared the ride with. The words of artists (who I have never really bothered to familiarize myself with) followed along with the steady tempo of the bus rocking over Ann Arbor’s busy potholes. The day is cold. Yet, the sun is still shining. Reflecting off of the green leaves who are turning marigold with its touch.

During the ride, I quickly made the acquaintance of a small bee. It asked for the time, landing on my watch repeatedly. It must be in a rush, I declared. The bee, proceeding to land on my knee, nose, and shoulder, asked if I was its mother. Making me responsible for dropping it off at kindergarten on time. Imagining its peers, teachers, and classroom, the bee’s stripes lingered with me for a few stops. And almost as soon as it arrived, the bee left. And, I was empty. 

That is the best bus ride I will ever have. Mere minutes turned into definition, and whose definition means less to me than it may have meant to others. For instance, a bee whose life could have ended had it not stumbled onto my watch, my knee, my nose, and shoulder. 

I wonder if my absence is notable. If even recognized, at all. 

I wonder if you are trying to find me; I am achingly displaced from you.

Considerably, my autonomy here is double-edged; my individuality is heightened, my loneliness is at its call. Yet, in moments where I find a stripey buddy, I feel a notable pull towards you.

I am sorry for misplacing you, Home. 

Your appearance finds itself in the smallest of matter.


With love, 

V.L.A.

P.S. Here’s a continued thought – In My Life, The Beatles.