realities

There are so many worlds that we do not know about, though they are right in front of us. Behind the mirror, the window, in the grass under our feet. A network of beings to whom we are something that could never be understood.

These other worlds are everywhere. I read somewhere that the vast majority of ocean life has never been witnessed or discovered. Somewhere in our yards, in our houses, down the street, animals speak to each other and we are in a reality that does not allow us to recognize their language, like so many other languages that we do not hear.

Like one tiny vein in a living body, ours is only one in an infinitely complex swirl of connections.

I think about these other veins, the ones that run along side you and I, and I wonder if they look at me as much as I look at them. I am certain that they do not, and this depresses me and makes me want to hide.


There are lost souls everywhere, not in the same tube as the rest of the beings on this earth. Children who know their friends' phone numbers but not their own, and which play grounds are inhabited by their own kind. They know when dark is coming, and what that means, even when we do not.

They know when pain is imminent, and can run but mostly choose to stay. Sometimes they have new shoes, and some of them have never worn shoes, ever. Their hair is streaked with sunshine, because in their reality this big ball of fire is integral, important in a way that we will never understand.

These children have dark, liquidy eyes that no one will claim. These eyes almost never see water, and when they do, it leaves streaks on cheeks that are thirsty and dusty and beautiful.

I walk along side these children, watch them in the playgrounds. They run beside me, and I struggle to keep up, silently praying that they won't leave me behind, sitting on my shitty wooden stoop, where I watch for people in my own rusty red vein.

Sometimes someone rushes by, but they see me and clutch their purses tightly against their chests. Others walk slowly, never breaking eye contact, and I hold my breath. When they are finally out of sight, I wonder where they went, and exhale. Mostly I am alone.

But along side this tiny vein, a bigger one pulsates and it is the knowledge of this that keeps me here. I can see it, even from my stoop.