Tag Archives: mourning

Autumn

Find a yellow leaf, a golden leaf, a leaf that’s mourned its own falling. Name it. Whisper its name to it, kiss it. Unname it, whisper silence to it, kiss it again. Fling the leaf and watch it dance in … Continue reading

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Wither

From morning to noon, the roses gathered to grieve the loss of their bloom.   (Photo by David John Lotto)

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Gravesite

  My father and I visited my mother’s grave. Nothing about it felt profound or moving. It felt like a prescribed exercise in courtesy, a bland ritual.    One thing that gave it a dramatic feel: it was raining.     … Continue reading

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Of Time and the River

   One thing we cannot recover is time.    Perhaps that’s what I have been trying to do.    Perhaps that’s what every writer, as a fugitive stalker, as a heartsick orphan, as the fool-hero in their own movie is … Continue reading

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Pigtails

   There was that day you wore your hair in pigtails.    You were thirteen. Pigtails and a pale blue summer dress. I think the dress was new.    My mother had died three days earlier.    You and I … Continue reading

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Kiss

Among the feathery downs of dark, and silvery quiet, I find you, time and again, the filigreed stem of a lush red rose, a night kiss sealing air in shuttered mourning.

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Death of a Super Hero

   I was six when I found out I’d never become a super-hero.    We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother, my father.    My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a wild, bloodshot, not-there look … Continue reading

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Marianne

A rocking chair stilled, white on white, burning, no sound– So long, Marianne.

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