967: Ode to Purple Summer
967: Ode to Purple Summer
Transcript
I’m Major Jackson and this is The Slowdown.
On a recent evening, the line outside my favorite ice cream parlor snaked around the corner — another oppressively hot evening in the south. Some fanned themselves; others talked rapidly in anticipation of the pleasure ahead. All of us sought a flavorful relief from the humidity, except the woman ahead of me. She declared she would be here even if the temperature were negative ten degrees; she was giving herself a treat after a week spent in bed, sad from a breakup.
When I am despondent, I don’t shut down. I am the classic trooper who works right through his issues…which isn’t necessarily healthy, of course. But then, after a long day, I am on my sofa, streaming some show. And when I power down the TV, I see myself reflected in the screen. The laughter has stopped and, bang, in my eyes, something seems off.
For me, the pendulum swing that is emotional health deprives me of the world’s splendor. The hummingbird flitting about the garden is no longer enchanting to me, a bite of a perfect brick oven pizza is just food, mere nourishment, not a crispy, aromatic experience of basil, tomato sauce, mozzarella on its way to becoming a culinary memory. Planning travel to other countries feels burdensome with all the flight preparation and itinerary building. I lose my sense of excitement.
Yet, when I come out of my despair or have figured things out with the help of friends and family, I’m like the woman ahead of me in the ice cream line. I am more alive than ever, rendered new, painfully so. My synesthesia kicks in. I want to explore.
Today’s poem reminds me what recovery looks like. We are brought back to a place of thrill-seeking pleasure and curiosity.
Ode to Purple Summer
by Sabrina Benaim
I listen to the flowers. I hear them laughing. blooming, I mean. I take a bath in the kitchen sink. I pin myself to the map on the bedroom wall & look! Here I am, a nap on the cherry blossom carpet in the backyard. Instead of running circles inside my head, I go for a dance down the sidewalk. This morning, on the patio, I told the waitress, I have my open-heart set on the smoked salmon hash. I asked for coffee, she said, and a water with me, I did not say jinx out of respect. I dream of being coronated the king of ice cream sandwiches. I dream of having exactly enough change for the cashier. Sometimes waking up is like falling back asleep into my favorite dream. It rains, I forget there are clocks, sit on the stoop and read poetry. When the man calls me, he addresses love and I recognize he is talking to me. I recognize myself as love. I suppose this is what I am getting at, in the phone call, when I tell my mom, I feel like I am living myself back alive.
“Ode to Purple Summer” by Sabrina Benaim from I LOVE YOU, CALL ME BACK © 2021, Sabrina Benaim. Used by permission of Penguin Random House.