March 9th, 2014

Yesterday I wanted to write about how Genna's strands of hair on the shower wall twisted like a moebius strip. They looked also like a drawing of fire her friend had sent her in the mail the day before. Each point, however far removed by time or distance, touches another point through the intersection of lines and it goes on forever. Nothing is lost. Last night at Ezra's birthday party I sat with his family and I was happy to be a part of this. Later when his friends arrived I talked with Trevor who was as thoughtful and intelligent as I remembered, and as gentle too, and it seemed not at all like there are seven years between us. When I left at midnight I stopped to say goodbye and he hugged me tightly, and pulled from his back pocket a beautiful vintage scarf. I've waited a long time to give this to you,but it was nice to have it; I would look at it and enjoy it and think of you and wish you well. I blush and look down and I know he can see the tops of my lashes brush my cheek. Thank you. I wrap it tightly around my neck. I walk home and as the wind blows sleepily, I unwrap the scarf and hold it up so it floats behind me, twisting, and our shadows, mine and scarf, against the snow, are distilled and preserved forever, like Genna's hair on the shower wall, an image of what is true. This is what it is to love and live: a twisting, a dancing, against cold, white.