The Quitsa Strider unfinished, Angel Marie Russell

Things I miss,
And for which I am grateful,

The key strike
Of a nine foot concert piano
Crisp and anguished
Alone in the dark
Of a piano store
I once worked.

The mountain pass where
Wildflowers burst abloom
In fragrant symphony
After a strong rain
In the high desert

The road long and continuos
Laid out before me
Beckoning for more beauty
Adventure
And rest just ahead.

Getting lost on purpose.
To find my way back
Once again.

Running full speed
Through cold air
As tears run
Streaks
Along my temples.

Finding a real and true bed
After not knowing
Where or when
I would lay my head
In peace
And safety.

The moment when playing
Trumpet with others
I became lost,
At one with sound
And transported
Along its wail
As if my soul
Departed thorough its bell.

The stillness
And quiet
Of being lost in a moment
Especially
When lost in
Another’s eyes.

Watching crickets
Jump
Higher than I could
Ever imagine
As a girl
Scabs and dirt
Adorning my knees.

My first taste of
New York Pizza,
German sausage
In a lay over in Hamburg,
Creme brûlée,
And Seattle espresso
Wide eyed
Lost in rapturous
Delight.

New socks and underwear
After touring
In dirt
Grime
And the smell
Of city bars.

Peeing standing up
At CBGB’s
Because it was punk
As fuck.
Playing bass in NYC.

Screaming loud
Over a riotous girl band
Because I had to
Release that somewhere.

Holding my puppies
For the first time.

Meeting my idol
And having him back away
Slowly
To escape the
Crazy in my eyes.
Enraptured
I verbally vomited
Adoration.

Seeing the snow fall
For the first time,
Watching it collect on trees
And my eyelashes.

Frostbite.

All the times I loved and lost.

The colors of sunset.
The smell of the wind on the ocean.
The song of birds
Following boats
Out to sea.

That same green boat
There as the day before.

Walks in moonlight.
Motorcycles through parkways
Single speed
Bicycles through car tunnels
Driving way too fast
On racing tires
Modified Ford.

The smell of car grease
And gasoline.
My grandmothers cookies
And grandpa’ Gin and tonics.

My fear of ghosts
Basements,
Scary movies,
And men.

Best friends.
Endings
Beginnings.
Pain
Love

Yes, life
I would do it all again.

 

-Angel Marie Russell

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