Aura-Girl, or not

The weight on my forehead again. Let this be a sign, I said. But to who I said it, I don’t know.

I was sitting on the steps, watching the rain, and the lady that wanders the block passed by.

Hello, she said. Do you want the entanglement?
I don’t understand you, I said.
That’s alright. No one does.
Then she kept walking.

I see her most days. People ignore her. Yesterday, I caught her laughing at the 7-11 sign that read: Fresh Milk Delivered Daily!

The man chaining his bike to the railing was trying to speak to me, but I had my ear-phones on. He kept walking in and out the apartment doorway, waiting for me to unlock the second door.

Unlock the second door? He asked.

I imagined he’d hold me up with a knife. Do it! Yes, I’m trying the second door of every tree I pass. Nothing’s working properly. The weight on my head again.

Doesn’t he understand? But the second door is in a woman’s chest. Perhaps. One day we could cut her open and try.

I imagined if I was being murdered, what I’d want escaping from me would be screams, of course, but in the language of God.

When I used to watch those around me speaking in tongues as a teenager, I thought it was silly at first, but they would cry and laugh and smile. Someone would fall down. Another would lay a black cloak over their body once they hit the ground. And there they’d be, shaking. From cold? I wondered.

I miss the feeling of falling off my horse. The impact, the wind knocked out of the lungs. Or if I was trying to jump, sometimes my body would hit the rail. Once, my helmit hit the wood and I saw numbers in the sky before blacking out. I think I write about it now to understand what I saw, and I think I see numbers differently in the every day.

The tiles across from me are in rows of 5. 10 in a square, if you keep squinting. This makes me laugh, because I see a spiral in a wave, swallowing itself in a tongue.

Then a man I met a couple weeks ago comes by the steps.

How ya doin?
Hangin’ in there?
You know, I looked up that horse, Tomy Lee. Amazing story. He bought the one horse at 25 grand and the companion for 6. And the companion went on to win the Kentucky Derby! Amazing!

My great grandfather walks into our conversation:

Yeah I bought him on a hunch, but I was always one for the underdog!

My great grandad smokes a cigar. In his white suit, penny loafer type shoes.

I can’t believe he’s in this conversation. Dead 40 something years. But he follows me upstairs.

You keepin up the writing? He asks.
Yeah. I try.
Good. Don’t worry bout the otherwordly, its in you. You wanna know somethin’?
You got an aura. I don’t.
Keep the entanglement on your mind. The horses will come later.

What’s with the tattoo? 33X07? I dreamt about it last night.

Look, Shannon. Read the book. I gotta go.

What about the man by the East gate? And the girl with the stars in her skirt.

It’s in the books. Just keep your bets to yourself. And listen to the weight. My arms disappearing.


1 Comment

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One response to “Aura-Girl, or not

  1. Just discovered your blog, Shannon. Your poetry is a breath of desert vastness, like staring out into the huge Texas sky.

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