[ABQ]
P A R T 1

POST: 0006
POETRY
11-16-02021

I like Albuquerque [ABQ]; the place has a lackadaisical air. It’s goading me into idleness. I’ve stopped straining to cram two lives into one. There aren’t e-scooters lying in gutters and across sidewalks. There aren’t confused DoorDash/UberEats/Postmates freelancers speed walking with bags of other people’s food. Life is less ＣＯＮＴＡＣＴＬＥＳＳ.

It might be that folks in [ABQ] have the time to go places at a walking pace. They seem to prefer to pick up their own food. They might even decide not to walk anywhere, or pick up anything at all. Cook at home. Life, unoptimized. Life at the pace of life.

The ability to do things at your own pace: is that a luxury?

My tempo-home in [ABQ] was near the Rio Grande River. The Rio Grande is not really all that Grande, but it’s flanked by a pleasant path. This path is flanked by a long stretch of deciduous trees: Big-Tooth Maple, Desert Willow, One-Seed Juniper, and Screwbean Mesquite. Trees with names that could be roll-call at a femme-biker bar. Trees with burning hues of Autumn; every shade of flame. Winter’s austerity is coming, with its short, cold, clouded days. [ABQ]’s trees are centering their chi, breathing in the nutrients of their leaves, and letting them drop, dry and spent. They are becoming minimalists, gaining from loss. They are celebrating with brazen & flamboyant shows of color.

I take this display as a metaphor. A reminder to drop what has become useless, and to turn my energy inward. These need not be sad and cold causes; these are acts worthy of celebration. That every loss is a gain, even if that gain is just a quicker acceptance of the pain of loss.

It seems like a lot of loss is in store for us.

I want to believe that this is what I am doing on this long trip in [ABQ]. In the Southwest. In scouting out a new place to live. I’m condensing myself. I’m canceling my streaming services and leaving my jobs and releasing the lifestyle accessories for identities with which I no longer identify. Dropping it all like desiccated leaves and focusing my power into a robust, woody core. And I’m making a ceremony of it; running around the bonfire fueled from the things I don’t want, chanting out a modest list of the things I do want. I’m preparing for a long winter, and I’m making a show of it.

Metaphorically, of course. Spare the air.