Moon Memo: Dance of the Fireflies
Good morning from Portland, where I'm in recovery. Traveled to Nebraska to see my sweetie Graye, for reasons I'll be oblique about in writing (the midwestern urge to not share when things are difficult). It was beautiful and hard. Met lovely people who care about Graye very much.
Flew for the first time since the pandemic started. Bigger now, which meant discomfort. Aggressive pat down by a trans woman who works for TSA. I thanked her by name, which ruined her day. But that's the breaks when you police against your community.
Saw fireflies for the first time. I was sitting on the front porch of Graye's partner Dru's house, and the world filled with blinking lights. "what the hell is that?" I asked with wonder. "fireflies," Graye replied incredulous. How do you share the child like wonder for something people take for granted? This is an every night thing for these folks. But I have never seen a firefly before.
Flashing is about sex, of course. It's a sign of lust and procreation. Nature drips with sex. Sex and death. I watched as a little bat swooped down and ate the firefly. It's the cycle.
We watched movies and ate and drew. She was in pain. I was present. We had sex one time. It was a beautiful and wrenching time. I hate being so far away. But she has her partner, and her spouse, and her girlfriend. She is being taken care of.
And now I'm back home. Working and writing. Added a third screen to my desk. Left screen is for Email and music. Right screen is for text messages and Microsoft teams. Center screen the big one is for work and writing. communication should be satellite. Only the work matters.
It is day 180 of the year. I have a missed day of writing poetry. I almost have. Sometimes it was one of the last things that I did in the day. But I'm not gonna miss one. Enjoyable addiction. Weaponized that part of my brain that's broken. Writing the best poetry of my life.
I guess that's an update. Hope that you're all well.
Love and stuff,
Misha Lynn Moon