My new apartment

I relocated recently to an apartment in another building not far from where I was living before.  I had been living on the fifth floor, the top floor.  Now I live on the second floor, the lobby floor, of an eight-story building.  There is a floor below mine that is the ground floor, but Puzzle and I can actually walk out of here via the front entrance without using the elevator, as there are stairs (or a wheelchair ramp) leading to the entrance.

It is a smaller apartment.  I like that.  I have more control over the clutter here.  The apartment is easier to keep clean.  I had to get rid of lots of my belongings to fit into this place, and I’m glad of it.  Sadly, I had to give away my bicycles, but I am no longer able to ride them due to my poor vision.  When looking straight ahead, I cannot see the curb or oncoming vehicles, so common sense told me it was time to stop riding.

I have more control here because the apartment is smaller. I am reminded of the halfway houses I lived in.  The rooms were small.  I had few belongings with me.  It was the same with hospitals; I kept my personal space impeccable.  I find that now I go around the apartment looking for things to straighten, ways to keep my apartment neat and clean.  Scary.

A poem I just located called “Port Townsend”

I recently moved and unearthed some notes from the January 2008 Goddard College residency in Port Townsend, WA that I attended last January.  I did this poem in a workshop.  Here it is out of my notes verbatim:

PORT TOWNSEND, JANUARY2008

Port Townsend

Chilly, not cold like Massachusetts

green, not black and white

muddy as a puppy’s paws

Grass growing alive with stories

lots of white buildings surrounded

by drizzly fizz

Ocean push-pulling on the beach

thoughts of Evil in my head

Port Townsend

So I’ll tell it:

I’ll tell about chilly, not black and white

not cold like Massachusetts,and green–

muddy as a puppy’s paws

Grass growing alive with stories

I’ll tell about lots of white buildings

surrounded by drizzly fizz

I’ll tell about–so sorry am I–

Ocean push-pulling on the beach

A crack of sun–now gone clouded and bare

In my head: Thoughts of Evil

that have nothing to do with you.