the solice and danger of movement

[I'm working from both ends to catch up with my journals-- so if things seem to be appearing haphazardly from months past or suddenly, today, that is why. this is the consequence of emerging from my most recent, and periodically necessary, tuber phase.]

I'm painting my neices' white dresses red.

I'm visiting my ex-boyfriend's mother's kitchen-- she's a russian jewish immigrant and there's byzantine folk decor on the walls, jewel-red and gold on shining black-- it's a matched set of planters, mirrors and small hanging fountains, and it's the sound of the waterworks I focus on: how soothing the chorus of trickling water is.

we're going to board a train-- the doors are closing, and my companions hang back while I make the leap-- I don't quite make it before the doors close and the train begins to move forward, picking up speed-- I'm wedged in a kind of entryway alcove and hanging on, heart a-beat-- I know I need to be careful with my feet, not let them get caught in the wheels or the track and pull me under-- I feel weak and unsure I can do what I need to do: reach up for the doors and swing myself inside. I gather a deep breath, calm my heart, and slowly, carfully manage just that-- and I am safe inside the train, hurrying along on my way.