Tuesday, October 16, 2012


This morning my name is Zarola and I never read horoscopes. Except perhaps if I should find myself aboard a plane, that steel church with its unfamiliar and uniformed messiah driving us to the places we wish we were and hope to get safely to. If I should look up and find my tablet's battery dead, paperback stowed too far to reach and feet tired from their own incessant restlessness - then, maybe then not willing to break the unspoken covenant of passenger silence I will accept the magazine's secret backpage invitation and read a horoscope.

Today I woke to the memory of flight. I dream of the sky often if I have been away from home for too long. Perhaps this is my way of calling myself back to the places where I belong. Seeing as I'm in America, I thought I might look to technology for signs - in place of smoke and spirits - and because I am in Iowa I thought I might ask a cyber Shaman to divine what I have hidden from myself in the quiet of the corn fields. No such luck, half asleep, a Chilean writer at my door wanting his collection of photography returned to him, I frown at him book in hand and try to go back to sleep. Minutes later facebook on, someone posts something.  There I find a link to some 'fresh' horoscopes. I don't need a Wiseman to tell me that this too is a sign (of boredom, a cake made of that potential for joy, spiced with curiosity. I am a carnivore with a sweet tooth) but fate has an expiration date, you know a best-before and not after kind of set up, so I dive in.

Leo, "Your cat has gone missing", Ms Cox from Wag's Revue says.
I think what cat, lordy she's only 5 words in and already way way off base. I might be a 'cat' but anyone who knows me knows I do not, own, nor will I ever take a cat for a pet. Infact I don't do prides, I mean pets at all.
"You leave your window open even though the temperature has dropped with the rain that has persisted ever since the cat's disappearance"
Oh oh how does she know about the window, man!? Then I think probably half the world's people sleep, either literally or metaphorically, with their windows open. What of the cat, you ask - we'll notice how it is now the cat, not your cat. Mmhm, so a cat, the cat might have disappeared the day the rain started, what do I know :) She moves on to speak about the deceptive meowing of a neighbour's cat, by the time she gets to phrases like furry friend - I desperately look back over the last couple of weeks to see if I've been stealing berries from my neighbour's orchard. Reassured I have been a good girl and realizing that the friend was still a reference to the/a/our cat, I move on.
Yes this is half horoscope review (thank you for taking such care with the words Ms Cox let's try and brighten up the next Leo reading) and half stream of consciousness exercise. Because
I can't whistle and I'm done waiting.
For the words to come.
I imagine they are all (commas, fullstops, umlauts, yes even those dreaded adverbs:)) standing at an airport terminal somewhere lamenting in unison, 'where is that vagabond of a wannabe wordsmith?'

I'm going hunting, for all that is holy today.
Perhaps because Zagajewski is a man who knows many things and his poetry has spoken at least once of (the) Wall and having come up against my own these many mornings I will say let poetry be "neither reward nor punishment/just frost, snow and mist" and for a little while it remains the inimitable burnt orange of autumn falling/through the 6 by 4 concrete holding my one eye of a window up.

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