Michigan

Seven Years

Seven years later, I am now in Grand Rapids again, which is a kind of beautiful, full-circle moment.

The house is, by nature, transient.

But now, in the morning as I dress, I am enthralled by all the stories I carry on me and within me.

Under the Madison Street bridge, the tree that grows sideways suddenly popped flowers that smelled like corn tortillas.

I am from this place as much as I am from anywhere, and it’s this recognition that helps me know that I can feel this way again.

by Jon Gorter | Jun 28, 2020 | 4 comments

I don’t often think about my breath.

There are no miscalculations or extraneous details—things are only borrowed or loaned between neighbors.

Meaning, it turns out, doesn’t always accompany mortality.

I care a lot about things like that. I want people to remember good things about me.

But I will say that—for me—being confined to my home has sometimes felt liberating in a small and quiet way.