Moon Lists

APRIL

01 Nature

Since quarantine began I’ve started following the sidewalk out of my apartment complex. I live at the tip-top of a hill off El Camino Real, which sits sequestered from any sort of trail or legitimate jogging space, so this endeavor always seemed inconvenient to me. Now, however, I feel an intimacy with my neighborhood and my community that had been absent before. The other day I laced up my running shoes and set out down the hill. The air was rich with springtime, clear with warm gusts of wind that made small weeds twitch alongside the road. I ran out all the breath in my lungs, and on my walk towards home crept into the backyard of some townhouses being built, where a poppy meadow entertained me with a similar wind-dance. These flowers were tall, and their petals sat so close that they formed a cushion of sorts, so as the wind blew they swayed and carried the rippling air over their heads.

02 Object (Old)

Selling clothes has forced me to consider everything in my closet. There are garments collecting dust that I find too beautiful to part with, most beautifully embroidered or intricately beaded. The clothes that I have culled I try on individually, attentive to their fit and how the material takes in light. Afterwards I lie it on the floor and measure it, scour for any flaws and photograph them, then proceed to make a posting. Studying the clothes perhaps deepens my relationship to them more than ever before. The timeline of my ownership has been shallow and disconnected up until this moment, the very end, when I’m about to get rid of them. A funny little system it is, I tend to think of old objects as being closely familiar because of their age, but not at all. In this way old clothes have felt brand new.

03 Object (New)

A bouquet of sweet alyssum(?) that I hung on a brass nail and a book on mourning jewelry.

04 Night Out

If I’m not leaving work after sunset I am absorbing the garbage disposal of city noise from my mom’s balcony. Wine tends to lave the senses to a heightened, sort of caffeinated state, such as each sound and sight can be discerned one at a time. It makes me wonder about a night in the prairie, sitting on a porch. How do those organic sounds compare? Croaks and crickets.

05 Encounter

Since stay-at-home orders have been in place, it’s been hard to find parking at my apartment. I share one spot between two other roommates so when it’s taken we’re relying on the guest lot behind the complex. One night recently I had come home from work late, patrolled the lot to no avail, and made the decision to park in the fire lane, just outside my front door. Around three a.m I wake to glinting red lights on my mirror. I’m dazed but remember my car, and intuitively know there’s a tow truck outside. Frantic, I throw on the baggiest t-shirt I can grab and run outside to move it. Words are sloshing around in my mouth as I approach the tow truck driver, explaining the lack of parking, begging for him to just let me get in the front seat and go. I’m buzzing with adrenaline but the groggy remains of sleep make it hard for me to form a sentence. He looks down at my legs and walks towards me. “Are you wearing anything under that?” I scramble another sentence and offer to grab my car key. “Can I see something?” He continues forward. The complex is dimly lit without street lights, so I can only make his silhouette and the shadows of loose skin along his cheeks and chin. Fear sets in and I suddenly feel starkly exposed. “I won’t tow your car, can I see something? You come out here wearing nothing?” He speaks in slightly broken English. Some sort of intervention seems dire and although I feel frail, I respond quickly. I ask for his name and address him assertedly, “It’s the middle of the night, I feel unsafe, uncomfortable, and afraid.” At this point he digests the situation. I’ve been walking backwards as he’s been walking forwards, and I’ve pulled him into a spot where I can see his face. He tries one last time to ask for a hug, as if to mollify the implicit sexual acts he had been asking for earlier. I deny him and he lets me keep my car in the fire lane, but explains that the tow truck camera has to catch me by my car so there’s proof that I came out to move it. Three a.m and I’m pulling my shirt down over my thighs, standing next to my car, as he drives away.

06 Day out

Quarantine has been a remarkable set of iron bars for what I would classify as a “day out.” Maintaining my optimism though, my apartment has become a sanctuary when I’m not working. I like to keep the windows open, cooking and reading to children’s thrumming on the tire swing outside. Occasionally as I walk the sidewalk I am wafted the smells from different kitchens, spiced meats and rice and Spanish radio playing. Being “out” right now, although from my own home, is what I can gather of the lives of my neighbors.

07 Time Alone

I’ve spent most of the weeks preceding spring, and now preceding the summer, in my own company. I have my fingers in a myriad of hobbies to sop up the time and keep my thoughts composed. Pickling, making sourdough, melting beeswax, cutting old lingerie, drying flowers, writing, reading, condensing my belongings… a festoon of creative stimulants or “self-assigned coursework” so to speak. I do get to lounge around in my underwear and a bra when I’m by myself, doing anything from stretching to crouching in the corner with my torch and a block of wax. The intimacy I feel with myself and my body is enriching. The exposed skin adorned with a burn here and there and some sun spots that I hadn’t noticed before.

08 Time with A Friend

Micah I met under sour circumstances. I’d gotten into an argument with my roommate one night while we were out drinking, and walked down the street to my work for a breath. Micah bartended next door and willingly offered me a ride home, and between my own choked tears nodded and listened and spoke honeyed words of encouragement about the earlier conflict. During that moonlit drive, I basked in her fresh company. The car dimly lit but her laughter haloed in the space between us. It was the kind of conversation that permeates all your slivers and cracks and leaves you feeling spiritually full. We’ve remained friends since, and take turns being humble mentors for one another. I still regard our meeting as falling into the lap of an angel.

09 Creative Act

Beeswax has been the closest thing to participating in a traditional art medium for me. Even so I don’t know the material very well, and have only been growing familiar with it by poking with a diamond file and putting heat to it. I melted the petals of dead lilies into it the other day, and the beeswax hardened around them the instant I removed my flame. Seemed like a proper burial.