Extrapolation’s hazy clarity
This young morning I deciphered several altering footsteps claiming needed space across the too-close sidewalk near my bedroom window. Annoyed/intrigued I unraveled from the wrinkled hobby of my bed and looked between the horizontal fingers covering my window’s aging vision.
Strange and perhaps the strangeness of hallway-width hearing tricked my mind into an uncertain belief. The steps weren’t that of rapid moving men or even of the neighbor’s children who’ve awakened me many times in the past. No, it was rain; an overwhelming style of rain—the formations angled like new-silver nails into strength of wood holding together a weekend pastime.
Cars, too. Yes, various tonal blurs amid a map of asphalt sameness. Interesting how the wet serial cycles arise from the black-gray mood of 1st street’s incorporated usage.
Tangled, surprised, abstract I now needed removal from this awakened aspect of sedentary watching. My wife, explicit in the observation of early-style haze, portends a subjective subsequent answer:
Her eye a verbal query at my standing—I was unaware.
“Sure.” An empty bowl called toward my own effort.
My voice, an indifferent tool conducting appositional space/confusion. She abandoned my achromatic communication, bequeathing concrete warmth upon my right cheek, a scented fabricated fruit stayed from the kiss I needn’t imagine.
Within the wholeness of isolated comprehension, I gazed near the counter where her shape stirred. A silvery silhouette gazed at mine, incorporating taunts of mystic reproach toward my unnatural imagination.
Vaguely, I memorized her smile, hand stitched into my favorite photograph of her open-door silhouette.
“Your attention is laughable” I heard from the nuanced insulter. Outside’s rain I can now hear atop the home I’ve conceptualized into a mirage of safety and concern. Simultaneous sounds—the angled wetness above collocated with the silhouette’s believable brand of flat but intuitive realness. Apparent was the resemblance, though faint this message had with my wife whose leaving confounded my ability to reclaim purposeful meaning.
I spoke but said only with my sitting body.
“Limp.” “Afraid?” “Comparing.”
I tried to imagine circumstances of consequences—the noble ability to alter movement when the conscience pilots my mind’s incorporating losing. Strange because the whiskey on my last night’s tongue had fully dissipated; the taste now a memory of shouldn’t. Strange because the late start of my late night had controlled into pause—for the morning had perused, began, extended.
Exacerbation became the soliloquy. Feeling as two closed eyes would heal the source of aggravation, I depended on a brand of diagonal sleep to become a cure for dormant exclamation. In an apparent dexterity of wrongdoing, my wife arrived home to her yelling at my soggy cereal neighboring the curled slobber I’ve created atop our dinner table.
My attempt at an altered reflection was unsuccessful.
An apology requested my mouth to move quickly. “Sorry”, the quickness was inexistent. Upset, she removed herself again from my presence, this time sans the warming kiss containing a fabricated scent of fruit.
This patterned method of my living required devotional conviction of apparent but unanswered queries. I needed detoxification, an agile rendition.
From the family room I could hear a rhythm of sighs, cries. My wife became a reinvention, an angered ideology. I approached, she faded. Her personable momentum of earlier’s visit, vanished. There, my favorite photograph—the memorized smile; adjacent, a recollection indicating intent to store various celebrations. The glass of the frame, cracked, restructuring function’s elation into jagged metaphor.
I sat within a favorite chair’s embrace. Involving wholeness was the enveloping reactionary focus. Irony was impulsive, explosive: thoughtful intent to intertwine with the moment’s context of my truant aim. Altered thought moved into correct direction. To myself I whispered the calming chant “change, change.” To enact this pebble of momentum I required faith from the forgotten aspect of my failing diligence.
Once more, the favorite photograph facilitated a final memory; within the silence a derivative of desire relaxed into a stance of altruistic scold. My listening ensured tomorrow, one of inspired music akin to the rain outside serenading abstractions into the clarity of before’s meaningful invention.
Felino A. Soriano edits Of/with: journal of immanent renditions. More information can be found at felinoasoriano.info