Two: Other Things by Livia Blum ‘19

Other Things The world places her fingers softly on my nose. Her breath smells of winter, of a Christmas I know is coming. There are other things.

I hold my ears in place and my mind takes my feet on a long walk. There are sunflowers here And hawks.

Laurel Canyon crows.

My hands drag my favorite blanket along and the wind shapes my hair into Thousands of little question marks. I put mint leaves on my tongue.

Somewhere someone I’m going to fall in love with is playing a twelve string guitar. A fairy in a Douglas fir tree coughs and turns over in her sleep. Words twist into rain. My shoes tie their laces. One step and then another. A book under my arm. My familiar at my side – a coyote, who wails. Blue kisses my hands and drips from my skin and as I walk My life hums behind me, a skipping stone song.

My mind tells of the ocean breathing onto her feet and crawling to meet me. She places her fingers softly on my nose. She floods my mouth and eyes and starfish nest in the center of my ears.

She kisses me. There are other things.

And I watch the sun set, facing my ocean. Me, a coyote, a crow, a hawk, a question mark road map, a memory not yet remembered, a shrieking, windsome whirling wild wondrous blue.

A hill gone haunting.