springtime in Alaska
This morning I was feeling charged up. Coffee apparently. I was thinking, well, it’s a new month, it’s Ash Wednesday, it’s the first visible waxing crescent of the new moon, it’s a clear sky, I hope to start running again once the ice melts, I have new running shoes anyway, my weight has stabilized and I’m near the thinnest I’ve been in eight years, I’ve lost the post-surgical disorientation of early January, I’ve lost inhibitions of dark winter (there’s light, so early, so late, so high), I’m thinking it’s time to heed Leonard Cohen and go back, go back to the world, I’ve shaken two weeks of collective family infection-flu, tamed the worst of Fiona’s fevers, I’ve thrown off the asphyxiation of my first post-orchiectomy cancer scare, having received the all-clear from an attentive medical community (measuring tablespoons of Green Mountain French Roast this morning I whispered a prayer of thanks, looking up at the kitchen cabinet as I spoke, and lost track of tablespoons). I felt rested, it’s all right, I had Johnny Cash murder ballads in my head, it's all right, the oil burner was heating the house as it should, it's all right, K. was taking a hot shower as she should, it's all right, June Carter’s voice in my head repeating when it’s springtime in Alaska, it’s forty below but here at the intersection of three New England states it’s a fine nineteen Fahrenheit, it's all right.
The future! She’s there, she’s waiting.
But as the day progressed into parenthood, story hours and fishy crackers and juice boxes and spatout grapes and forced sharing, strapping and unstrapping from a car seat, acquiescing to her constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, unceasing, constant, unending, constant, unreasonable, constant, perpetual, constant, mercurial, constant, recalcitrant, constant, constant, constant, angry, sorrowful, constant, constant, constant, constant demands, I lost my will, I lost my will, I lost my will, my will is gone, my will is gone, my will is gone, I have nothing left, I have nothing left, I have nothing left, I have nothing left to give, I have nothing left to give, I have nothing left to give, I have nothing left to give, I’m empty, I’m dead, I’m drained, I’m gone, I’m gone, I’m gone, I’m gone, so help me kitchen cabinet, I’m undone by a kid, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, you win, you win, you win, you win, you win, you win, please stop, please stop, please stop, please please please please please, okay, okay, fine, her in the back seat of the car saying Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Come back. Come back. Come back.
Then she says, looking at the red umbrella that’s been on the backseat of the car where no one ever thinks to look for it when it’s raining, my ashen heart sparking amber -
That’s an umbrella. I hold it up and keep Mom dry. I have it when I’m raining.
That first slender waxing crescent above the sunset, it could shatter into dust above the sun, it’s so thin, it’s so thin, it's so thin.
The future! She’s there, she’s waiting.
But as the day progressed into parenthood, story hours and fishy crackers and juice boxes and spatout grapes and forced sharing, strapping and unstrapping from a car seat, acquiescing to her constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, constant, unceasing, constant, unending, constant, unreasonable, constant, perpetual, constant, mercurial, constant, recalcitrant, constant, constant, constant, angry, sorrowful, constant, constant, constant, constant demands, I lost my will, I lost my will, I lost my will, my will is gone, my will is gone, my will is gone, I have nothing left, I have nothing left, I have nothing left, I have nothing left to give, I have nothing left to give, I have nothing left to give, I have nothing left to give, I’m empty, I’m dead, I’m drained, I’m gone, I’m gone, I’m gone, I’m gone, so help me kitchen cabinet, I’m undone by a kid, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, you win, you win, you win, you win, you win, you win, please stop, please stop, please stop, please please please please please, okay, okay, fine, her in the back seat of the car saying Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Come back. Come back. Come back.
Then she says, looking at the red umbrella that’s been on the backseat of the car where no one ever thinks to look for it when it’s raining, my ashen heart sparking amber -
That’s an umbrella. I hold it up and keep Mom dry. I have it when I’m raining.
That first slender waxing crescent above the sunset, it could shatter into dust above the sun, it’s so thin, it’s so thin, it's so thin.