“This particular conversation with the expert.” – Maggie Nelson, Bluets
It’s a conversation and you’re in your robe, me in what looks like one. There’s coffee and cream-filled doughnuts. I hate those. We’re talking but it’s not quite right. We’re looking into eyes across the kitchen island but not saying, not seeing, not really looking.
Where it’s wooded, I’m cool. It’s a way of being with you, with me and we’re not really seeing, not really looking but amongst trees that’s ok. There’s so much more in bark, in reishi perched off the tall oak, there are ways to distract, be distracted here. It’s why we walk.
But over pastries and strong coffee we’re supposed to be doing that looking, that seeing, that connecting. We fail.
“It is tempting to devise some kind of maturity narrative here.” – Maggie Nelson, Bluets
It is tempting to know more than I say, to say more than you hear. To keep things safely to myself. In.
The wiser older, the knowing, the way she wants to leave the space, make a move. A decision that feels like it’s owned by someone other than me.
It is tempting to sit with you, a finger or two tracing denim, your leg but I’m looking away. I’m sinking into a way of touching that I can’t feel.
It is tempting to believe myself, to be a type who is older, feels more, gives less. If I hold onto it, maybe you won’t be able to feel it. If I pretend I can’t feel it, maybe I won’t.