following the storm, i sit and watch the snow fly while rearranging, again, some of the inside of my house, my shell that cannot hide me from anything, not really, and i want to climb to the top of the trees and sway and blow crazy, kick up a fuss, in that white wind.
i am so lost in the past in my heart, amazed at the imprint of my mothers' head, and the roses, on the glass that covered the New York Times poster, covered, past tense, because today the glass broke and i had to throw it away, wrapped as carefully as possible in a white flurry of fiberfill, wrapped so no one gets cut when they touch it, as i get cut when i touch the past.
the times in New York, when some photographer guy asked to take jack and barbara's picture because they were so very beautiful and with that photo they got to stay beautiful, always young and perfect, strolling on a street in new york, before time slapped them around and snatched it all away from them, jack stuck in a nursing home chair, staring stupidly, a prisoner of alzheimers disease, barbara stuck in sadness and sighing "I DON'T KNOW...I JUST DON'T KNOW..." and she didn't, nor do i, so i frame them and try to think of The New York Times and the beauty that got left behind.
3 comments:
Funny how the weather forces us indoors to be retrospective and think about the things we miss. I was missing my daddy today, too.
you just cannot know until you have taken that precarious spot at the top of the generational ladder just how dizzying a height it is....and how lonely. life is never the same after your parents leave.
"Hold your parents tenderly, for the world will be a strange and lonely place when they're gone."
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