Persimmon Leaves

by Avery Evan

 Photo by Sungsu Han / iStock / Getty Images

Photo by Sungsu Han / iStock / Getty Images

Your fingers still brush the jut of my hip bone when I sleep. I can feel them now, even after the months without you. I started crying in the courtyard today because the air smelled like that loose white t-shirt you always wear. It wormed up my nose and ached in my head. Later, I went to Target and found myself in the deodorant isle. Timber mint Old Spice melts me every time.

Maryann yelled at me today. Said that my bed was a comfortable prison that I’d built for myself. I wouldn’t say it’s untrue.

I spent the first few hours of Saturday sitting on the toilet. Not even doing anything, just staring at the house plant named Gary, with his teardrop leaves and somber exterior. He makes me sad to look at, that’s why I like him. After the sitting I went and made some toast with butter and nutritional yeast. My mom tells me I eat too many carbs, but I tell her I eat carrots sometimes too.

The apartment doesn’t get much sunlight, I suppose that helps to keep some things in and others out. Summer freckles have faded, Time ate them too.

My feet won’t stop being cold. I tuck them into fuzzy socks and my cheetah print slippers, shout at them to hurry up and stop already, but they can’t figure out how. I wonder sometimes if they’ve grown an affiliation to my heart.

I made a to-do list after lunch, I think someone told me that it promotes productivity.

 

  • call mom

  • pickles, granola, salt, paper towels

  • respond to email about Betsy situation

  • tampons

  • make a list of everything blue

  • turn phone on

  • eat a damn good breakfast every day

  • eddie ate dynamite good bye eddie

  • get package from front porch

 

I am, I am, I am. Sitting on the back patio. The old lacey metal chairs make my butt go numb. The air is silent; it makes me dwindle. Insignificancy a tad too quenching.

Suddenly, I stand up as if a string attached itself to the tip of my head and pulled me up like a puppet. I walk to the spiky hedge beside the driveway. The hedge is daunting. Into next door neighbor man’s mysterious yard I go, through the thorns, eyes vacant yet purposeful. Cuts and scrapes mark my body but the pain hides itself behind mush and goo.

It’s there. I reach for it like Eve, the orange is so loud I’m surprised it’s still quiet. Persimmon meat, crunchy like a potato. I finally tear into it--at last I’m an animal again.

Back in the driveway, a hopeless pining to be unbothered makes my fingers tingle.

When night comes, I walk down the hill to the beach. The water is dark and molten. A yearning for my bed returns but I picture it here, lying on the sand like a princess. Pillows fluffy and silk, I lay back, a soft fur covers me.

You’re next to me, now. The mattress is a vacuum and sucks us in, makes me ache for forever again. We stand up together, walk down the sand until we reach water, letting darkness touch darkness, cold is far away. Steps further in, up to our knees soaking denim. I keep going--the water is telling me to, all I do is listen. Its right under my chin now. My pores open up and let me soak the wetness up like a sponge, I feel them breathe and grow and morph into something else. My mouth goes under, I drink the salt up like it's ambrosia. Feet don’t touch the bottom now, I’m floating in space and stars, the moon blooms below my toes and I try to reach for it but it’s too far. My chest aches as the glow begins under my ribs, seeping upwards--something coming. The skin above it becomes thin and red like there's a flashlight inside of me. It grows brighter and stronger, there would be pain if I could feel it. I reach for your hand to grasp before it happens but-- I look. You are gone. I’m alone in the water. The cold becomes cold and my pores close as I realize. I’m alone. I’m alone.

Back in bed, now--the comfortable prison one. The soft orange blanket hugs me better than any human. Head molds to the shape of pillow as body rests limply below it. I wonder if this resembles the womb or the casket more.

Maryann went to Scottsdale to visit her boyfriend for the weekend. The silence nibbles at my icy toes.

I tried finding the beauty in the little things today, started with how hot I could make my shower. It was very hot. After that I walked out to the driveway, stared at the blue sky to see if I could find anything new. It was just blue. The orange of the persimmon leaves taunted me again, I feel angry bubbles when I look at them.

Sleep gives way for more dreams. I see legs tangled up romantically and pigs squealing right up in my ear. It would be nice to feel everything sometime. I only feel nothing or little bits of somethings.

Joel Campo