What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

Keep on dreamin’…

K

Sun leaf shimmering slowly in my eye as I lie beneath this harboring arbor knowing that even as my time takes to shrinking, this tree will soak up more sun to transform that into more time here, and though today that same sun will soon drive me back inside, for now I know that my face will remain a glimmering green, a movie screen on mute, that my hair will flow along forward with the passing drafts, straining to follow, to be free to frolic in it’s new life as a wisp of wind.

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My dream is a tree and my fingers are more than branches, my heart more that a thump or thud in a chest that is more that trunk. My hair is not quite hanging leaves and I drop sweat almost like rain, it runs down and falls to the carpet which is not quite grass, not quite moss, but my soil right now nonetheless. I stretch, I straighten to meet the sun, take in more than strength on a face that is more that a pattern of traces on bark. I taste the film of time, expand with the ringing chimes of ages, suck up pain through my roots, more than just feet, make it sing a simple melody that, until now, only blue jays and fireflies have known.

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I don’t know if anyone out there is still reading, but I heard once that it takes some 20,000 hours of practice to become an “expert” at something. If I’m never an expert writer, that will be fine, but I’ll take simply creating something now and then that has never been said or written in the history of the world, likely will never be again, likely never would have in the first place. Even if it’s just a few pixels on a forgotten webpage, backed up by some ink in a book, I want to keep on pressing the keys and moving the pen until I can’t anymore. If this is what makes me happy and gives me purpose, then I am both lucky and cursed: lucky that this is something that I can do at any time, any where, with very few tools necessary to keep it alive; and cursed because it’s buried firmly in my gut, ready to kick me in the ass if I ever lapse or stop. I don’t know if it is all any good at this point (and I’m not fishing for compliments here) but it’s what I can do, what I know, and what will be the foundation for anything that I do in the future.
…even if it breaks your heart!
@c

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What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

About Andrew.

Andrew Cartwright grew up in Indianapolis, IN, but has lived over the years in such places as Denver, CO; Fairfax, VA; and Rivne, Ukraine. He is a former nonfiction editor for both Indiana Review and phoebe; he has also worked for the intersectional feminist journal, So To Speak, and the national literary magazine, Electric Literature. His work has appeared in The Normal School Online, Copper Nickel, Esquire Ukraine, Literary Hub, and Word Riot.

For more information about me and links to other writing, visit my author page at cartwriter.com

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