Altitude

Girls trip a success. Blasting BSB all glammed up on our way to the sky high patio, where we were seated in the corner under the TV. But is anyone as happy as four millennials singing 1999 anthems in a big car with windows rolled down?

Fire pit both nights, crafts on the second morning. I wrote at the Airbnb desk looking out at the woods, eavesdropping on my friends discussing next steps from their swinging seats.

I enjoyed touching everything in the gift shops but left with nothing but a one dollar thrifted turtleneck with candy canes on it. Oh, and a one dollar pink shirt with stains. Maybe I'll wear it with overalls. Also a chunk of frozen cheesecake with chocolate chips. Forgot that.

Sometimes it's just too late and you wonder if what you said was a welcome gate or a muddy path. Ah well, it is what it is in the cabin in the mountains. Everyone feeling just a little ill from the heights.

You hope the advice you give is good and you wonder why you didn't ask for any. Then again, did they? There's a tarot reading someone keeps apologizing for and a birthday almanac that deals it out for real. Took a photo for another May 19 in my life, and she confirms, yes, it's brutal.

Too bossy as we packed, too quiet as we drove. Or a couple comments no one needed to hear. Ate a bag of Pirate's Booty from a CVS everyone went to the bathroom in. All four people so alike from far away but nothing the same in molecules. No competition in this forest. I believe for them and only wish I could help more.

And the tiny dog whines every time someone leaves a room. She's a hearder, so we're told.

Witch

Seven women. A witchy number, a holy number. It started as a Galentine's party but as the plans deepened and the email chain wore on, it became Coven Weekend 2017. It was routine to receive  messages like "The black flame candle has been lit."

The first five to arrive in Sprite's woodsy family cabin unpacked quickly. There were kimonos for everyone and foam crowns to bedazzle. We all showed off our snacks. I told the group I felt like I was in 4th grade again, bringing a literal suitcase of doll clothes to a friend's house just to sort of marvel at it all and not really to put it on my Bitty Baby, or even, for that matter, hold my Bitty Baby. I ate a bunch of fancy cheese. I ate like I had never eaten before. Hoof said, "Me too. I am so snacky! I wonder if its because I am in a safe space." It's a joke and it's not a joke.

When the final two arrived we played a game that involved drawing cartoons with dry-erase markers. In between we chattered about our lives and Roxanne Gay and singlehood and pain tolerance, and wow are women amazing. A medical head of Cook County Hospital. Four JDs. 6 out of 7 of us have been into prisons?! An all-star roller derby champ. We flipped the sand timer and also discussed the Chicago police chief. I said I have been thinking about becoming a cop, and no one laughed at me. "You would be a good cop," they said.

After the glitter tatts it was time for the fire. We wrote out what we want to rid ourselves of and went around the circle burning the scrap papers one at a time. Strained relationships, Catholicism, the fear of moving, the error of being a failure. Into the pit. A marshmallow got stuck in my fur hood. I don't want to wash it. Every time I put on my coat I smell firewood. One house far away on a hill, we blared femme pop music and danced. We channeled the Crucible. I always felt someone was missing. Hunny, drunk, slurred about her passed grandma who she believes haunts her. There were no wrong answers. When my teammates were too wine competitive for charades I sat on the carpet and had my tarrot cards read. The message was clear. It soothed me. "I guess you shouldn't become a cop," Nasty said. I guess not.

We all skittered to the basement. A large room with bunk beds. I chose a top. In the middle of the night, time unclear, I had to throw up. It was pitch black. My period had started. Summoned? I felt empty in the good way.

Wisconsin in June

Typing in the guest bedroom with the concrete floors, fluffy blankets.
Basement, corner of the house. Middle of the woods.
It's been cool here, windy. Wildflowers--hot orange, little purple kisses.
Out running in sunshine, but it feels crowded. Trees brilliant--
but they hang over me, casting shadows, hiding the lake.
A toothless man in a van pulls up next to me.
I usually do not stop for this type of thing, but in America's
Dairyland...He tells me there's a bear ahead, so I 180.
I look up to find a dragonfly halo.

In town I remember sitting on the bench at the marketplace.
The old time candy shop. I wish I could bottle the smell.
It hasn't changed since I was four. The barrels of Bullseyes,
taffy baskets, cashew brittle on wax paper. Jars of gummy sharks.

Late sun on the porch. Two big ol' dogs.
My dad eats a sandwich quietly across from me.