The Sunset and the Purple-Flowered Tree
By Joshua Jennifer Espinoza
I talk to a screen who assures me everything is fine.
I am not broken. I am not depressed. I am simply
in touch with the material conditions of my life. It is
the end of the world, and it’s fine. People laugh
about this, self-soothing engines sputtering
through a nosedive. Not me. I’ve gone and lost my
sense of humor when I need it most. This is why I
speak smoke into a scene. I dance against language
and abandon verse halfway through, like a broken-
throated singer. I wander around the front yard,
pathless as a little ant at the tip of a curled-up
cactus. Birds flit in and out of shining branches.
A garden blooms large in my throat. Color and life
conspire against my idea of the world. I have to
laugh until I am crying, make an ocean to land
upon in this sea of flames. Here I am.
Another late-winter afternoon,
the sunset and the purple-flowered tree
trying their best to keep me alive.
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"I have always been drawn to the natural world in times of distress," Espinoza told Poets.org. "This poem honors...the agency one can find in making the choice to notice and revere the beauty that exists alongside all of the terror."
Not much exciting happened on Thursday besides slightly nicer weather, which led to more neighborhood animals being out and about -- bunnies, deer, a frog in our neighbor's fish pond, the chipmunks back trying to steal the birdseed that the squirrels haven't already stolen (don't worry about the birds, the sparrows, doves, starlings, and woodpeckers get plenty). There's a basket of laundry sitting here that I can't believe I didn't get around to folding, but hey, I got all my college philosophy and psychology books packed to donate, and there's a bid on my most expensive Tarot deck on eBay, so that's something!
We watched the start of the Field of Dreams game between the Cubs and Reds, by which I mean we watched the hour of tributes to the film including Costner talking about Liotta and lots of father-son baseball bonding (Ken Griffey Jr. and Sr. quite lovely), then we watched the game until my usual Tuesday night Zoom fangirl call. Then Paul and I watched the seventh episode of The Sandman, whose portrayal of Despair pissed me off -- I know it's based on the graphic novel, but the filmmakers have changed other things, they could have skipped the fatphobia. Frogs and toads at the C&O Canal earlier this month:
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