The open space
The sun-hours
The rock formations
Driving with The War On Drugs blasting from a crappy car stereo on an empty highway
The awe-inspiring storms
The lightning bugs
The jukeboxes in dive bars
The rawness of everything
I lived in the United States for most of my adult life. It feels so far away these days. Dissociative recollection. Like a strange dream. I can’t follow any news about it anymore because it feels so out of my hands. Out of my hands now. I say: “God bless America” out loud and really mean it, because boyohboy could it use some blessings. It’s out of my hands on so many levels.
Still, everyday, a handful of memories place me right back in Shawnee National Forest in golden sunlight, or on the edges of Cedar Lake, Highway 51 to a friend’s house, Longbranch coffeeshop and a quick trip to Goodwill to get some outrageous $2 sweater I might not ever wear, the purple trailer, boys running on the back porch, the corner of that old couch with a cat purring on my legs. Out of my hands but still woven through the pronunciation of every word I speak, the ways in which I see the world, how I smile at strangers.
And it’s funny, for it is such a difficult country to live in. Social conditions are so harsh, cruel sometimes. And yet, I became so much softer there. Every seed of sweetness in me grew sprouts while I lived on that land. Not because of it, maybe, but through it, perhaps, somehow, inextricably together. Those seeds continue to grow; I will make sure they keep on growing.
And I say: “Y’all Folks take real good care of yourselves out there now, ya hear me?” And I hope you hear me. And I hope you do.
Yvet Youssef 