Where the Heart Is

I suspect this is the infamous bottom rock. Where the body is a dark steady ball of lead. Where silence is painful but concrete. I stay still, in a state of inertia from which I am not sure I want to be changed.

I crawled out on the fire escape and watched the smoke slowly curl from my cigarette. Amazed that New York can be so quiet. That a hundred year old ladder can be so sturdy and hold me, regardless. Hungry to the point of nausea, I have been unable to make myself food all day. The apartment empty enough that I could spend most of it at the piano. Something about song that opens my heart and lets me bleed all over those ivory keys. I was relieved I still could.

I slowly climb back inside. Did the apartment get even more still while I was away? My steps are so slow. I pass a mirror and remember that I have not showered for days. I wear clothes that needed to be washed several baby feedings ago. I know I went out looking like this this morning, that is surely no good sign.

And still, I am somehow comforted in this day. In reclining in the comfort of this feeling. Recognizing myself in the middle of it. Words swim around in my head; I am grateful for their company, for their tireless return. My heart beats steady, awaiting Spring with unabandoned innocence. New York, honey, holding your hand I know I am safe. That is all we need, in the end.