I Will Tell You About The Time There Were All These Snakes On the Island
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My wife's friend is having a melt-down. Her marriage is busting up and she is driving the bulldozer and weeping all the while and also singing.
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I have taken some time off to deal with my kid who is doing bad stuff and how.
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I got a noise in my head like its a hive of bees in there. Plus smoke.
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Do you smell burning feathers?
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There are lots of moments of happiness, still. They sprout up like weeds through the cracks in a sidewalk. Stubborn and a little bit sad. But there they are, all the same.
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We watched "Days of Heaven" the other night. I never tire of it.
"He seen how it was. She loved the farmer."
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In the end, we should be good. To each other, to ourselves as well.
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I'm trying.
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I
posted by tearful dishwasher at 12:32 PM
2 Comments:
Do you know this poem? Your blog entry brought it to mind:
Philip Larkin (1922-1985)
The Mower
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.
I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:
Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
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I had two neighbors, two amazingly loving
and wonderful women, who committed suicide,
six months apart, the first to relieve herself of the pain of a terminal lung disease, the second from the unbearable loss of her partner. Their loss was a huge blow. In feeble response to the cruelty of our living, I typed up this poem, encased it in plastic, and tacked it to the wisteria arbor in front of their house (which abutted the sidewalk). This was nearly two years ago, and it's still there. A bit of mildew on the paper.
Good luck with the kid.
You have moved me with your small kindness and your capacious heart.
I am glad and humbled to have your company.
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Thanks.
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Suicide is a tough nut. I have stood in the aftermath of many, many of them and it still amazes me each time. I mean, I get why we do it, but it seems so odd that we can just opt out so easily.
Not easily, I suppose. But we can opt out.
What I do know is there is enough pain to go around twice and we can all have as much as we want. Or can stand.
I dunno.
anyway. Thanks for stopping by, and sharing your thoughts.
all best-
tearful
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