I feel grateful to wake beneath the snow, to witness the adornment of nature as it is, with my only involvement being my personality and the necessity of translating material into emotion, into other matter like thought and words and internal images. It is almost night now and while I understand the oncoming evening, through the windows I see a white sky on white snow, all resting on the fingerprints of trees, quiet, full of mercury and hallucinogens. None of it is black like the a summer's eight o'clock, which is chaotic and cruel, the screaming frogs like dying women, the smell of algae on old water, mosquitoes entering the body without permission and leaving marks like burn scars, disease, mouths like needles and cocks. The birds are gone now and I am no longer deafened by the ceaseless sounds of life, and I have had the experience of being the only animal in the forest, watching snow hit dead limbs, my footprints filled within minutes, my body meaning nothing in the ocular throbbing of winter, where the saints have an open view of neoteric humanity, with its stone architecture soaking the light out of the soil.
I am pulling words out of my cells to keep my fingers warm as December meanders and I just told my lover through a satellite that I feel like this huge, throbbing flesh of wanting, like all of my fucking bones desire. I have to speak to my lover through phones and metal and I expect to cut open my arms and find microchips mixed with the blood and when a man slits my throat there will be a microphone attached to a recording cassette, my voice stolen from another woman, because perhaps I have never known how to speak, God's little marionette. I am sometimes surprised to find that I have a mouth and hands, as if I will wake living in freezing water, made of scales, swimming and eating and having dreams of being human.
It is 5:46 and the room is full of a proper dark, like a genetic
memory from Poland, brought into my temporal lobe by the snow. I
feel the woodsmen of my genetics moving through miles without light, stealing pitch resin from spirits in the Puszcza Biała, using witchcraft to protect the cattle from wolves.
