Dear Uddebo

Dear Uddebo, 

I miss you greatly. My heart aches from your absence. When people ask me here why I’ve chosen Sweden, how do I relay to them in words why? What words should I use to make them understand you? I’m talking to some people about staying in my little apartment while I’m gone. It’s hard to imagine someone coming to give you a try and deciding to leave. Where are these better places to be? I haven’t found one yet. 

I write to you from Melbourne Derbyshire. Sitting in a little cafe, the sounds of clinking plates, smokers laughs and British accents. There is an ancient church across the street with clover shaped windows. It’s been made into a house now, and one can stay in it as an airbnb if they like. England is a strange mix of rough, unfeeling and yet proper? There is still the essence of the classic gentleman lingering. I payed for not a single drink last night and drank Guinness from a pub open since the 1700s. The creaking and clonking of the taps as the Guinness was summoned up from the cellar, up into my glass. 

Through much effort I have thrown together a social life here! By showing up to every advertised event and saying hello to every stranger that’s willing to chat. I now have people inviting me out and elderly women all over town saying hello to me in the streets as the churches let out. This very morning I was discussing brussel sprouts with Robert in the fields of the farm I now volunteer for. The main man Brian, a HUGE potato fan, was very surprised that I wanted to volunteer my services for free. Maybe it’s been a while since Brian has been as lonely and bored as me. Then perhaps he would have understood my reasonings more easily. Either way he is happy for the help. 

Now, I’ve talked so much about me, how are you? Do you miss me? I hope you are doing well but there is this sick part of me hoping that I am keenly missed in every gathering. That perhaps there is a little weeping at some point every day by someone. Someone looking out and realizing what a giant hole I have left. Or is everything just spinning on without me? No, don’t tell me. I’m not sure my heart can take it. I am sorry. I of course hope you are doing so well. If you actually fell apart without me, what would i have to return to? 

That’s part of the magic of you. You’re a wild thing. Full of creativity and bursting with life. Not always obviously so. I love so your pine forests that everyone makes sure to disparage, not enough “leaves” apparently. I love your mushrooms and blueberries and bird gangs. I miss your many cats and many cat lovers. I miss the lack of scheduling, the running into this person or that. Sharing meals by accident day by day, running into someone and next thing you know its a group breakfast! I miss your sauna. Such a simple pleasure to meet all your new friends naked first, sweating into the stinky, hot, shared box.

I miss you so much! Why did you kick me out?! Why must I leave?! Yes, yes, I know there are rules but I thought we had something special! I feel so dejected and rejected. So damn LOW. I don’t WANT to go to these other lands and other towns. Nothing against them, they’re lovely and treating me well but they’re NOT YOU. There’s no OnsDance out here and I can count on one hand the amount of hugs I’ve had in the last two weeks. It’s amazing the importance of a single arm pat when you are starving. I miss my man too! I’m scared that his jacket will lose his scent if I’m gone long enough. It’s so unfair you get to keep him but I had to go. How is that fair? 

Well, I will try to control myself. If I let me emotions overtake me I will have to leave this cafe to not cry in the bath again. That simply will not do, not today. I guess I will leave you here. Know I will write you again. Know that I miss you. Know that I love you. Yes, I have been told that it isn’t custom to speak your love out loud in Sweden until much later. I am sorry, my loud American mouth won’t hold it in. I LOVE YOU!! I’ll scream it!

Until next time, my love, my Uddebo.

PUSS KRAM XOXO

Your Lily 

Water 1

Water 1

Lindsey Red Tail & Lily Marshmellow

Raised in draught, climate changing round my ankles. Water flowing in and leaving just as quickly. Winters so dry that my skin feels like it will crack open and fall off of me, blowing away in the hot winds. Fires filling the sky with smoke so thick that my coughs bring up grey mucus. Born in this is a deep profound love and appreciation of water. Water touching my feet, swimming in the ocean, walking in the rain with a broken umbrella, hot steamy showers. Thank you water! Thank you women, thank you dance. I love you.

L.A.

in

I feel shaky, my hands quaky.

My skin peeling off. Bits of me blowing in the dry, hot wind. 

I speak the language of city lights and traffic, fluent in the rage born in that trapped feeling. 

“Don’t forget to compare yourself!” cries the city. “Don’t forget to measure your pain!”

Sparkling eyes and bright voices, speak in spiritual tongues.

But nowhere to be heard is the light gurgle of laughter, or the gentle ringing bell of a curiously asked question. 

“we should meet for coffee” he says “you can talk for an hour and tell me all about it”

before name dropping a celebrity to remind of his importance.

Streams of sounds pass, the revving of the cars the only constant. 

Chocking on my choices, my sleep leaves with my hope. 

I AM.

in

I am cute. A beautiful being made of stardust, gaseous clouds leaving my bottom when I eat beans. I am music, sound. Breath & signs & silent screams & lilysong. I am here. I feel… things… I sit on things and cook things. I am spirals and color, orange skin on a summer day. I am aching for something, a cutting knife, kneading dough. I am a laugh buried under unshed tears. I am a sexy dancer hidden behind a good girl.