Upstate Leaves me in a Down State

I’m moving back to the place that stores my past and realize I’ve lived in the shadow of that past for all these long years, never really escaping tendrils that invade memory, create tragedy, wrong turns, wrong thinking.. wrong everything.  I have never been far enough away or long enough away to break free.  The separation needed for that younger self to evolve and not become the one I’d become.  Instead, the fragile girl with the internal time bomb glamoured herself up with made up brush strokes. A lovely portico, oh but don’t venture into the mess inside.

 

I come from an old town, pungent, stripped down, angry –  so debased it can only get off on the ruination of  dreams, ejaculating out despondency.  Generation after generation mothers stood still long enough to squeeze out one or two fledgling fuck-ups. And we, the product of the contaminated copulation, are left with a depressive chromosome, shuffling around all the other pairs, sucking out their drive or determination to do anything other than mix up our muddled dna combinations in perpetuity.

 

My muse, consistent in its fondness for upheavals, pushes me to make this move. And I shall step into an irrepressible New York springtime. April’s silted water collecting in pothole trenches, flower buds dripping colors, like territory-marking graffiti, on a gray landscape where it’s hard to decipher sky from asphalt. Some ancient part of me, probably that insufferable dna strand, feels rooted in those predictable patterns spun by gray and rain .  As if it is only “those” rains amid “that” sunless sky – because even the sun cannot be provoked to shine for very long –  can anoint my past and rework my future.

 

I call it going home because it proclaimed my formative years.  Injecting me with a love, like Stockholm Syndrome, of those seasonal changes.  Some physiological carry over of a primitive nature in the collective New Yorker that provokes birth/death/rebirth as if poking it with a stick. My inner voice greedy for change now subdued, like an infant at its mother’s breast, and I belt up and put the car in reverse.

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