It irritates me always when the phone rings. I rarely answer it.
But I am lonely so I talk to ghosts: Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene...
Why don't I just answer the phone?
Mary, Mother of God, Mother of All, thank you for this beautiful day and for four more weeks of summer. Help me to open my heart to the possibilities before me. Help me to be patient and kind with my daughter.
My daughter's dolls are staring at us now, waiting on the shelf. My daughter is twelve. Their potential lies behind them. She sneaks in time with them here and there but her heart isn't in it. She is bored.
When I was young and bored, Jesus showed up in a green Volvo and brought me to New Orleans on our first date. Baby souls were flying overhead looking for a place to land. I sent mine away and then she came back twelve years later.
Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy,
our life, our sweetness and our hope.
To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve:
to thee do we send up our sighs,
mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.
To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve:
to thee do we send up our sighs,
mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.
My mother, my real mother, paces inside her house, pacing from room to room, too nervous to go anywhere but restless, pacing. What's on TV? Clicking the channels, pacing, fretting. She is very thin.
I am fat. I lie on the couch. I look out the window and click down my list of dreams: go to europe, finish my book, make a film, write another play.
Journals surround me. A Journal of Plans, A Journal of Memories, A Journal of Prayers, A Journal of Nonsense. One day I will bury them in the backyard.
The dolls are staring.
Last night I dreamt I lived in a place called Blink--where the sky touched the earth in such a way that some paths seemed hazy, blurry and others were clear, vibrant. It was best to look straight ahead. Blink was by the sea, and my mother was swept away by the waves, although my dog tried to save her. Blink is where the eyelids meet. Blink was in Canada.
Today I am lonely so I remember things.
The first woman I fell in love with had long, thin fingers that she would lightly slide down my back. Her hair veiled her face as she leaned over me and I had to remember to breathe. When she was in my arms we'd both shiver and she whispered I feel so safe. I never felt so safe. And she'd drift off to sleep. But I wouldn't. I'd sneak out back to my own apartment and dream about her while I slept alone in my own bed.
Our bodies veil our souls. Our bodies hang between earth & the afterlife. Jesus was a veil between us and god. Jesus moved through to the other side and back again. I moved through Jesus.
His skin melted on my tongue, I tasted his sweat.
Mary, Mother of God, Mother of All, thank you for the beautiful summer, but I am ready for Fall, the season of rest and remembrance.
A tisket, a tasket, a green & yellow basket, I wrote a letter to my mother and on the way I lost it. I lost it.
I still don't feel like answering the phone.
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Comments
That cracked me up, John.
Well, I answered the phone & now I'm going to see the premiere of a film that my dear friend Ivy is in--which means I'm going out for the evening...
Thank you for reading gabby...and true about blu
Thank you karin
Freebird! Enjoy your time travel, anne...don't scenes like that give us a good reason to embrace middle age--at least we're past all that cheap beer...
I'm glad you like it Joan. The saints are up there waiting to spread their love on anyone who comes calling....But if you want them to show up as an image on your toast or in your rutabega--that I think they do for catholics only.
Thank yo SCJ & Catherine!
Scanner, I'd love to hear what you think the gist is...
I'm glad you like the images, scarlett
wow, thank you Dianaani
Floaty is good...thank you Sheila. not too surprising given my 12 yrs of a fine catholic education
owl & sophie, so good to know I'm not unusually anti-social--glad you got it!
thank you pilgrim
And it reminds me how evocative you are, always...
Keka, that was the best compliment ever--not only because it came from you, but because tn williams is my favorite writer...