and boy are my wings tired - wakka wakka.
from my flight:
i'm drunk.
right now, i'm so in love with you!
and i don't want to think too much
...about what we should or shouldn't do...
it is possible that i am drunk. the steward has fed me bloody until i burst - i sip and sip, the skye icing me unthinking, and this book, "The God of Small Things" at my hip, halfway through, lapping at its banks.
i am almost 3,000mi. away from my love,
from his brother and father's chokes and sniffs,
from the ashes - moved to the bedroom dresser as a matter of principle, of course,
from the aunts (a silent presence throughout),
from toes toe-ing each other, attempting to fill up a Mum-shaped hole with... feelings.
he will be home Tuesday after the ash-placing ceremony thingy.
my relation is to this amazing boy who stops me with a glance, this beautiful boy with his wild hair and restless knuckles, this one secretly licking his lips for cold bottled coffee and sweets, with lashes and kitten whiskers on his cheeks. i was there after the call, the surprise ending. i was there to pack up Mum's clothes and things, and for the Dad narrated tour to the thrift and back, leaving all that she ever wore in 40gal bags (listing for tax write-offs of course) just inside the door among other bags and bags - who else's wardrobe ended up there that day?
(later i spied the same dress i had carefully packed and listed and abandoned, in a wedding photo - Mum and Bob, a toast over the cake.)
what is this loss? this feeling? i feel an emptiness in the air, and a thorough confusion. nothing i say makes sense or even comes close to anything. i don't get it - can't understand - and am as dumbfounded as anyone else.
i'm drunk.
right now, i'm so in love with you!
and i don't want to think too much
...about what we should or shouldn't do...
it is possible that i am drunk. the steward has fed me bloody until i burst - i sip and sip, the skye icing me unthinking, and this book, "The God of Small Things" at my hip, halfway through, lapping at its banks.
i am almost 3,000mi. away from my love,
from his brother and father's chokes and sniffs,
from the ashes - moved to the bedroom dresser as a matter of principle, of course,
from the aunts (a silent presence throughout),
from toes toe-ing each other, attempting to fill up a Mum-shaped hole with... feelings.
he will be home Tuesday after the ash-placing ceremony thingy.
my relation is to this amazing boy who stops me with a glance, this beautiful boy with his wild hair and restless knuckles, this one secretly licking his lips for cold bottled coffee and sweets, with lashes and kitten whiskers on his cheeks. i was there after the call, the surprise ending. i was there to pack up Mum's clothes and things, and for the Dad narrated tour to the thrift and back, leaving all that she ever wore in 40gal bags (listing for tax write-offs of course) just inside the door among other bags and bags - who else's wardrobe ended up there that day?
(later i spied the same dress i had carefully packed and listed and abandoned, in a wedding photo - Mum and Bob, a toast over the cake.)
what is this loss? this feeling? i feel an emptiness in the air, and a thorough confusion. nothing i say makes sense or even comes close to anything. i don't get it - can't understand - and am as dumbfounded as anyone else.