Sunday, January 8, 2012

•ghost time•

Frustration will fall away. There will only be the palm of his hand. The white of his beard. The softness of a belly that can tolerate cheese and peanut butter heaped on an English muffin and washed down the gullet with milk, aahhh. Won’t I miss him? Won’t my heart ache like a frost heave on new pavement? In my twenties, I worried about his health. I threatened that peanut butter--I would hide it! How ridiculous—and how telling of how it will be. How the moment it all snaps away, when I’ll crave only the company of that person I once knew, and in the black of winter, how it will feel I only have myself to blame.

7 comments:

  1. "Won't my heart ache like a frost heave on new pavement?" -- beautiful line and small stone --

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  2. The portrait is touching. The sense of loss, or impending loss, throws me into my own current grief, for I have no similar memories to pull me through.

    I used to put eanut butter on everything. In France it's an expensive luxury.

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  3. Oh, honey. This is gorgeous. xoxo

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  4. The inevitability of grief. It's laying in wait for all of us. This post is part of a larger piece I can't rightly publish on the interwebs. Curse it all. xox

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  5. So deep and sorrowful - knowing before loss how terrible it will be.

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  6. Yes, like you said to Amy -- good to pause in the depth of this place and tone. Would love to read the whole piece.

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  7. "The inevitability of grief" is terrifying to me. I felt every part of what you said.

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