Mom — we don’t need phones, you can hear me through the window just fine.
She picks up the phone on her rolling table and holds it upside down to her ear.
Dad is gambling on my shoulder.
Mom — Dad is not on your shoulder. Look, I’m not using a phone and you can hear me just fine.
My teeth are falling out. This phone isn’t working.
Mom — your teeth are not falling out.
She continues talking into an upside down landline.
Mom — please put the phone down.
The receiver twists in her hand.
I release an invisible string, a white balloon floats away.
Mom — stop knocking the phone on the table.
Mom — please look at me here standing outside your window.
She built a family with her bones.
Another balloon floats away.
Mom — would you put the phone down please. I knuckle the glass.
Mom — for the love of God please put the fucking phone down.
Butterflies flying overhead, so many more this spring. The year of my daughter’s mermaid birthday party I didn’t stare skyward looking for wings that weren’t there. I smiled in my cleverness at having covered our dining room walls with iridescent paper and hanging foil starfish from the ceiling with aqua crepe paper. The room became a magical ocean.
Mom — please stop hitting the phone on the table.
A wheelchair is talking to Mom’s ass and if she leans too far forward, her tongue might fall out.
Mom — hang up the phone.
Mom — Mom
I’ll see you tomorrow.
I hang up my pretend phone.
Sometimes, there is nothing more to add than the conversation.
Here’s to Fridays fringed with warm wine, good and red.
am
Tag Archives: death
The Bowl of Clavicles
The Bowl of Clavicles
Late last night, my stocky papa who smiled and made great Italian meals died
This morning my father’s steel face melted into my mother’s collarbone
Early this morning, my fierce father died quietly in his sleep
Moments later my mother’s tear-laden eyes poured into my collarbone
A sad piece of subtle strength and perseverance dedicated to this day of Memorial tribute.
am
Yes, Thinking about Millie Again
To keep my focus on the spirit of an image and not become mired in details, “My First Ticonderoga” #2 HB lead pencil is the only art implement I use. This pencil is a cumbersome preschooler one. Many times while sketching, this ginormous lead pencil really pisses me off, but I persevere, because I need the practice.
Why Millie this morning –
While reorganizing my studio desk, I opened the box tucked in the far back of the top drawer. In the small box, a Metropolitan Museum angel ornament Millie had given me years back, plus, other keepsakes added along the way. One such keepsake, another gift from Millie, was a poem printed on ‘parchment’ and its accompanying angel pin whose wings had broken off and disappeared.
I got to thinking how missing wings don’t matter. Missing wings will never matter.
Millie’s angel will always lift me up.
xo
am:)
Happy April Flowers
Sometimes the cold tries very hard
to bore into the underbelly of our hearts.
When trying to imagine the light
this grey time of year can envelop us
in its blue without shadow
To taste the sun on our bones
we must always be willing to barrel down the glassy peaks —
ice be damned!
(image courtesy of some screensaver thing somewhere)
– this morning I was thinking about the ice dark outside my studio window and these words found their way into my cold dang fingers – this is my winter desktop every year – it changes along with the seasons
I hope you’re all managing well.
am:)
A Two-headed Calf Once Broke My Heart
For those unfamiliar with the poem The Two-headed Calf, it was written by Laura Gilpin (1950-2007). This force of nature came to me by way of my dear friend, DS Levy.
Ms. Gilpin’s tragic, yet beautiful portrait reminds us of the choice each one of us can make regardless of our circumstance or time on this earth. The Two-headed Calf is taped to my computer where my singular brain absorbs it daily.
When I was a child, my brothers and sisters often visited the Blauvelt Museum (shown below) to gaze at its many taxidermy displays. One animal in particular always tore at my heart — the two-headed calf mounted on the wall above the mantle who looked through me with her six dark limpid eyes. How I wish I knew of Ms. Gilpin’s poem back then.
Hiram Blauvelt was a philanthropist, conservationist, art and animal collector. Ironically, Hiram was a big game hunter, and his kills provided the conservationist displays.
“Through his big game and private wildlife art collections, Hiram hoped to promote the cultural value of wildlife art and the need for conservation of its subjects and their habitats.” “Founded in 1957 as a natural history museum, the Blauvelt Museum introduced students, scouts and youth groups to the need to support wildlife and habitats conservation. Visiting artists created drawings and paintings from close observation of the specimens.”
In searching for the images for this post, I was elated to learn of Blauvelt’s direction. When the ‘hunt-then display to promote conservationism’ philosophy fell out of favor, “…the Board of Directors of the Blauvelt-Demarest Foundation decided that the original objectives would be best achieved by redesigning the museum to feature the works of contemporary wildlife artists, built on the artistic foundation of the Blauvelt’s early collection of works…” And among its many wonderful events, today’s Blauvelt also hosts an art museum residence program.
I Miss Her Too Much—Still
I don’t often show post-stroke images of my beautiful mom. I share the image (below) to share Millie’s joy.
Through three years of relentless pain, Millie smiled and expressed joy. Knowing her was a gift, and her lessons of love🌹 remain with me.
As her Halloween Birthday
arrives, I will smile impossibly wide to pay Millie’s gift forward in a world that needs a hell of a lot more love
I wish you all a fun, fabulous, creative, smiling, and safe👻Happy Halloween!
am:)
(image below taken many harvest moons ago when Millie and Billy were cruisin’ around in their convertible Mustang GT, and my kiddies were not yet costing us college money😁)
Happy Father’s Day
Dang, I miss my dad quite a lot. Can’t believe it has been six years.
Burying the Dead Twice
I am honored and thrilled to share my latest published essay Burying the Dead Twice. https://underthegumtree.com/
The writers, artists and photographers featured in Under the Gum Tree are exceptionally talented, and I am humbled to be featured among them. This volume is breathtaking, the layouts sublime. Order your copy today. Under the Gum Tree is worthy of coffee-table real estate:)
Those of us living on earth generously acknowledge that no good work is created in isolation. To this end, I give a shout out to my dear friend and fellow writer, Deb Levy, for her 1,000 reads and sage suggedits (as we kindly call them). I also give great thanks to Under the Gum Tree’s fabulous editor, Dorothy Rice. Dorothy’s editing vision transported this piece to a more intense and clear-storied place.
Thank you,
am:)
Angelic Smile
Our Precious Topper
This precious angel was once lovingly battled over by six Roselli children expressly for the honor of placing her atop the Christmas tree each year.
Every Christmas since, our dear little angel, freed from her topper duties, gallops into our hearts — hearts a bit saddened for the loss of one so joyful.
Though these days shadows last a bit longer, our hearts remain ever grateful in the light of Millie’s memory — the precious angel atop our hearts.
Missing you and your beautiful voice this Christmas season.
A peaceful, warm, and safe Christmas to all
anntogether 