She has been a cloud, a curved white wave, a story from a picture, the daughter who won’t answer back, reminder of all I have lost, world is full of daisies, I could find one now, on hands and feet in the night. They are common things, hands and feet in the dark, looking for lost flowers, people we always knew we needed. One million daisies, little flower faces, pushed to rough angles by this lion’s wind, breathing us into impossible life.
First the house is a messy
Then the wife
Gentle tyranny of ordinary things
Compared to cardinal ones, twos, threes
All that can be multiplied, added, subtracted
Divided between us.
I leave the shower curtain on the living room floor and the little boy who does and does not resemble us takes it up, exclaiming, the periodic table! with the remains of his little boy voice.
Later, after forgetting and days of heavy gravity, I lift the curtain and pierce each hole again, arms growing heavy-diagonally, the way trees grow.
Admire the way they have been ordered each in their brightly colored boxes. Iron, gold, carbon, oxygen, and the exotic ones we seem to have conjured to fill up the empty places.
- There whether we see or not.
- Unchanged by our indifference.
- Three or more dimensional even if we only see them flat.
- Elements and symbols for when full words seem to be not enough
He speaks to us in parables.
When I tell you I found the old mushroom-colored sweatshirt which saw us through thick and thin you will know I am talking about the way the Romans used to have it done, long pole, wad of cloth, vinegar soaked as we raise it to the real hero, his naked pain, the way he eschews ordinary safety for a stretched-to-the-limits agony
I take the brush, add the cleanser, wipe it all down with an uneasy litany
Drab for color
Old for young
Plain for beautiful
Forgotten for remembered
Me for you
Death for life
Whether you cast back all the way to their respective birth announcements or race forward to their untimely deaths, my two friends share bits of biography, outsiders in a world full of the ambivalent. So it surprises me that it took so long to realize the next step in my own apparitional grief was to see them together at the table I told you about before…
In the unassuming kitchen of God
someone is in the kitchen with Dinah, someone is in thekitchen I kno-ooow!
“Tara” for “Dinah” and capitalize the “Someone” and you get the picture-
He talks beauty and parable
All tears wiped away.
In this story- Court blocks undocumented teen’s abortion — for now – USA TODAY
a young woman who is in this country illegally wants the US to provide the means to kill her own child, who would be an American citizen the moment he or she was born.
Semantic subterfuge aside, right now the only people fighting to save the life of this smallest (and voiceless) dreamer are Trump and his administration.
If Trump prevails, one more amazing American gets a chance for freedom, and if not?