Wednesday, April 29, 2015


from Small Stories from My Enormously Spiritual Life

for Marco

A thunderstorm so strong -- I’d rather just stay here on the floor, thank you.  I had been doing crunches on the bed, then the bicycle, my feet kicking the air, beside the open window with its metal frame, as the rain poured and the lightning flashed, when I had a vision of my death so embarrassing that I chose to retreat down to the cool pink faux marble tiles.

These heavy rains are not seasonal.  But then, I suppose seasonal is fast becoming a useless word.  Climate change will render it archaic.  The adverb unseasonably will be used only by tired and disapproving traditionalists -- the same bitter queens who claim that promiscuity is now passé because they are no longer invited to orgies.

As I watch the downpour -- and flinch with every flash of light -- a gecko dashes through a gap in the corner of my window and darts down to the floor, where we occupy opposite corners.  Then another flash, another gekko.  The storm continues this way, yielding a parade of geckoes.

Welcome geckoes, we are in full agreement.  Help yourselves to ants, there’s plenty.  It never occurred to me that geckoes might be afraid of storms.  There are now approximately ten geckos in my room.  I am happy they are here.  They help me to feel safe somehow.  Also, I am not so embarrassed to be here on the floor because, if the geckoes are doing it, then surely it is a good idea?

No comments: