the big bang

Anyway, like The Great Poet and friend of my soul Richard Siken, I wanted to wait to write these words until there were no hard feelings, no sharp ones. And yes, my days are filled with light streaming through the windows when I wake up alone between white sheets; and yes, and there is green grass growing below my steps; and yes I drive my car fast down the highway and turn off the air conditioning and roll the windows all the way down and feel the sweat on my back and the hot wind in my face and think I can just about feel God.

But sometimes I am still sad and angry. And sometimes I still want more out of this life. And sometimes still I find myself in the dark and the dark seems to be the only thing there is. And I want to be grateful but I’m having a hard time with it. 

 And I think about Dante, that great old pal of mine, and how he once told me that there was no greater sorrow than to remember in present sorrow, past joy. I'm not sure if that's quite real for me, maybe because what I'm feeling isn't quite sorrow. But I've evened out. This spring, oh my god, this spring was aching joys, dizzy raptures.  

But I'm not quite sure those joys make this present whatever worse. I would hate to think those moments of grace, of perfect balance would ever give me anything but the happiness they brought me then. Because even still, even here, they bring me a calm sort of contentment. So if anything, instead of great sorrow, my past joys bring me slight bitter sweetness, and vast comfort.

But that's not even what I want to write about. Because I'm tired of writing about what hurts, now I only want to write about what's true. I've gotten pretty good at being able to write so people know what I mean, and now I want to write so people feel what I feel.

This is the truth: My name is Maura Margaret. I live in Kansas City and have fallen in love with the pink skies and gold of my town right before I leave it. In one month and three days I leave the town that always loved me for Chicago, for at least four years that promise to be different from anything I've ever known.

Spring of this year I finally found out how to happy again. I'm in between mountains again, since I can only hope that this fall will bring abundant recompense.

I like to read but I don't do it enough. I make art but I don't do it enough. I know I should pray, but I don't do it enough. Are you picking up on a pattern?

Anyway, I want to remember it. The whole story. Because the past four years have been the best of my life but I didn't write any of it down, so now I only have the memories that are as malleable as clay in my best friend's hands. I want the real story, all of it. So here it is, and here I go, Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune.

Here's to that, and here's to you, new friend. Let's meet again soon, okay?