I was trying to teach at 8am and words kept becoming other words when I wrote them on the board and I said “god! a poem must just be bubbling out of me right now.” But I’m trying to be attentive and do my job when all I really want to do is sit alone in my room and write shit on my computer and not have it be judged.
My phone was cursed because I broke up with my boyfriend on the phone and it had hurtful words trapped in it. The sea monsters knew I didn’t have the courage to delete the messages and so they took matters into their own hands. My phone had things they wanted to sanitize, to kill. To cleanse you, they said.
I went to the sea because I was trying to appease the sea monsters who ate my phone. I went to the sea in the dark and for the first time ever, there was no one at the beach and it was dark. I got out of my car and felt scared. Maybe a murdering man lurked somewhere out there between me and the water. The world was vertigo. I couldn’t see where I stepped and every way seemed dark. I went toward the rushing sounds at the edge of everything. I saw a shipwreck, I saw an island, I saw a man standing. And then I walked through it all, a 6pm mirage made just for me.
Suddenly my feet were wet, so baptized like magic salt everywhere, through my socks, slipping between my toes. Darling, I am in constant awe of what’s to come. And looking back at the west where the sun had set two hours before, there was still golden light, soft but so bright I first believed it was headlights from some friend pulling into the parking lot. I ran toward it, boots clomping on the sand. “Light, come here, I cried. I want you!!” I wanted it to eat me up. I wanted to bathe in it. For once I was not afraid.
Cris Kraus told me “Desire is not lack. It’s surplus energy–a claustrophobia inside your skin.” What’s inside you? What are you chasing?
I can always rely on the sound of the bells jingling from her collar as we run the trail, and later, when I get tired and stop, only the sound of her panting as she sits 10 feet ahead, waiting for me to run again.
This is the last post for the Soudbytes zine, issue 2, “The Mountains.”
My own response to the question ‘Search and Rescue in the Whites’ was too long for me to afford to print but it’s been published by Misadventures Magazine. Please give it a read!
Thank you everyone for contributing to the zine and get going on all those beautiful submissions for round 3! The next question is ‘how does home sound?’ As usual, any and all answers are welcomed! A submission guarantees you a copy of the next issue.
Send them to me at 2121 13th Ave South, Minneapolis, MN 55404 or email@example.com. It’s really best to keep the US Postal Service in business so snail mail is the way to go.
The poem above was submitted to the zine by Matt Soza of Laconia, New Hampshire. It’s simple and poignent words are accompanied by Matt Lanoue’s photographs of Gilford, New Hampshire. Lanoue wrote described his photographs to me in an email: “The first is a picture of Kimball Castle. The mountains here tell the story of New Hampshire history. One simply has to stop and listen. The second is a waterfall taken on the top of a mountain. It’s sound is the heartbeat of the mountain. A rhythm few people ever hear.”
In the White Mountains slow communication is really the only communication. Most of the AMC huts are at least 3 miles up the trail, out of cell service, and certainly not in WiFi proximity. Daily morning radio calls keep the hut staffs in communication with each other and the home base AMC offices at Pinkham Notch. On our bi-weekly truck trips, we filled the box truck with at least 100 boxes, and 9 oversized canvas green envelopes. In the boxes is the hut food for the next 3-4 days, and in the envelope is the mail. Hut croos pack their own envelopes down from the hut which include guest and croo communications. In Storehouse, we’re responsible for sorting this mail which comes down from the huts. I must have delivered thousands of letters! Hut croos send a specific kind of note (in Storehouse we called them love notes but the croos called them truck notes) which is often wrapped up in or written on the boxboard packaging the food in their hut. Most popular were the Annie’s Mac n’ Cheese boxes, prized for the flexible yet durable composition.
This zine submission came down from Hannah at Zealand Falls Hut in mid-July, a happy surprise in the green envelope. These are home made stamps printed with ink on the inside of Snickers bar boxes.