"Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead." Louisa May Alcott
Stuck in endless winter with sick dog, sad kid, dying car.
My mother rolls tighter and tighter into a small, smaller ball
of fright, tight with fright squeezed into a ball. Small.
Sixty-two, not sick but a chronic smoker, choker,
obsessor of despair, disease. Gawker.
Pacing her rooms,
smoking, surfing the web, tv
and smoking, pacing, surfing,
not eating --dieting,
scared of death and dying.
reaching, releasing, breathing.
But I never starve.
I eat and eat, devour,
ready to explode.