Detailed Map

If there was a detailed map of my life, it would show my favorite beach in the south of France, and that restaurant I loved that we went to once a week when we summered there. It would show my favorite haunts - bookshops, cafés, and bars - I love. The place I met the man I ultimately fell in love with. Mackinac Bridge and Cedarville, places I encountered as a child during the summer. The most detailed map of Paris, France, the city I was born in, and the one I still am in love with. The Pyrenees, or the Rockies, with all their ancient glories. The spot of my car accident. The place where I met a boy I loved in my teens. That tattoo parlor in Denver I got my first tattoo. Those off the beaten way paths and trails I’ve found randomly and loved. The US side of Niagara Falls. That cider mill we go to every year in early autumn to get doughnuts and apple cider. Lake Orion and that park at the edge of the lake because it’s gorgeous. All the haunted cemeteries I’ve visited. Eastern Market in downtown Detroit. Every state line I’ve crossed. All the concerts I have been to.

If there was a detailed map of my life, it would be creased, worn, and stained. It would have sand in the creases and permanent marker dots of places that changed me. Names of cities and people, and stories written randomly in places. With edges torn and maybe a little yellowed from age. Places I want to visit circled in pencil. And all the memories embedded in it from my life.

Patron Saint of Sleepless Nights

The patron saint of sleepless nights lights incense and candles at three am. Idles just a moment just before dawn. Wears dark colored friendship bracelets, frayed and faded. Sets garden quartz and black tourmaline on their altar. Counts the stars to try and fall asleep. Fucks in the dew drenched grass under a full moon. Accepts gifts of coffee, alcohol, and the souls of the reckless. Is relentlessly exhausted at every damn meeting of the saints. They show up unhurried and a little chaotic. Wanders the woods at night in the company of wolves and coyotes and foxes. They write soul-bearing poetry by candlelight. Shedding a layer of skin with each line. They snack on cigarettes, gin and tonics, and the hearts of your exes. Grins with the lifeblood of their enemies dripping from their teeth. The edges of their body always a little faded looking, giving them an ethereal look. They wear no halo. Of course they don’t. Resides in a wooden cabin at the edge of a forest. Remains to themself, shrouded in darkness. Worn and eternally fatigued and a chronic insomniac. The patron saint of sleepless nights doesn’t sleep.

Hymn for the Mountains

I am resurrected, come back from a glassy-eyed death, by the songs of the mountains. Resuscitated by thin alpine, snow-scented air rushing through the peaks. Wrapped in a blanket of pine needles, with leaves and flowers twisted into my hair. My veins have become roots of trees and mushrooms; my ribcage, the home of mountain wildlife. My remaining bones scattered to the wind; but I’ve regrown from these alpine roots. My soul has become one with those here. My skin and bones etched with the stories and secrets of the witches in the mountains. My soul carrying the ancient knowledge of the fey. Skin sewn together by the earth and rain. Hewn by the elements of the truly wild. I am an abyss filled with the magic of the mountains. A hidden realm of all things beginning and ending in the foothills and peaks. Woven by the words unheard dancing in the wind. An unbroken being of wild chaos. A story untold…

In the Mountains

I am resurrected, come back from a glassy-eyed death. The high, thin air brought life into my lungs. I am free. I dance to the songs, sung here by the mountains for centuries. Their words are written in my heart, along my ribs, like hidden scrolls of ancient monks. I only exist for the mountains. I become eternal. I find a home among the peaks. My past and future seem to blend together and fade away. I remember what it’s like to be loved. I find myself happy and full. I’ve changed; I’ve become the mountain witch. I flourish among the peaks, at one with the earth. I’m in love with different things. I am a little chaos, a little wild. 

In the mountains, I am fully alive. I breathe deeply and sleep soundly. I become truly myself.

Where I Hide My Secrets

Within the depths of my soul, which has both an icy wasteland and a fiery hellscape. I peel back my skin, layer by layer, and hide the sharpest secrets there. They’re etched along my ribs like hieroglyphs. Entwined in my desperate hopes of finding a better tomorrow. Encased in my heart, to be taken with me to my grave. Within the lines of all the poems I write, yet hidden well enough that no one will ever find them. Sometimes, they will escape me entirely, to float away into the ether, never to be found or remembered again. Gnashed between my teeth like strawberry seeds, glistening in the ridges of my molars before being locked away behind a clenched jaw. I’ve left some tethered to rocks I’ve thrown into a river, to eternally reside in a watery grave. I whisper to the trees, speak to the wood nymphs, and share with them some secrets, knowing they will never betray me. Beneath the bark, my secrets are held tight against the trunks of trees, where the nymphs store them. In the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow - who would think a secret was hidden there? Each color holding a different secret that disappears with the rainbow. 

I hide my secrets in places too many to count. But will they ever truly disappear when I am gone?

When I die

Please don’t mourn me. Celebrate our shared memories. Have me cremated and share my ashes among you. Plant lavender in a field and dedicate it to me. Sing a song that reminds you of me. Write a poem. Find a crystal or postcard that makes you think of me, keep it somewhere you see it every day. Visit the ocean and get lost under the waves. Get a tattoo in my honor. Find a beach and stare into the horizon. Sit next to a river and skip stones. Get into spooky season. Fall in love with autumn. Don’t dig a grave for me - I don’t want to be laid to rest in the cold ground. Get lost in the woods barefoot. Think of me when you see a rainbow. Dance in the rain. Go listen to the songs of the mountains. When you go through my things, keep something of mine. Hang wind chimes - the first chime from a stray breeze in the morning is me saying hello. Resurrect me with the stories you tell about me. Whisper my name like a prayer when you miss me. Ask Loki or Lilith how I am doing in my afterlife. Have a bonfire and dance with my ghost personified through the smoke. Have birthday cake on my birthday and blow out all the candles. Hold a séance, using candles, crystals, incense, and shiny things. Don’t forget me, but for the love of all that’s holy, let me go.