I think I made you sick after you showed up on my blue canvas. A painting I patted my shoulder for. I’m so very sorry, my dear friend. Did I do that to you? And it is too late now. I can take nothing back. Not one thing. I should have castrated my selfish fingers. You were saying you were sick. I didn’t hear the silent words. I wasn’t listening. For two months, I think it was two months, I can’t remember exactly–I was buried in my meaningful life. You kept visiting my studio. You hadn’t ever done that before. Well you had, but not to stay. You’d enter, do a sideswipe visit and leave. A gentle hello then you’d return to the usual places, ones of comfort like the sofa by the piano. We called it “your bed,” not our couch. Actually it is a love seat. The couch knew more than I. It knew how to comfort and be there accepting the additional weight of the masses growing inside you. The casual invaders I was too busy to notice.
And now, I watch your chest heaving up and down. It is your heart saying goodbye. I’m listening now my friend. I am listening now. Please forgive me when I must say my final goodbye to you and mean it from the depth of my selfish soul.
The warm door sweeps across the welcome mat
light spills out the snow-stained windows onto the walkway
It’s cold out there in the dark
familiar laughter seeps out the cracked seals
like chimes in the wind
beautiful images tucked into the pockets of her travel coat
The warm door gently closes
she walks above the snow
and slips away into the night
moonlit chimes accompany her slippered feet
her thin hands slide into her travel coat pockets
caressing the memories
as the walkway disappears
May you dream of your warmest memories and hold them tight…
For Aunt Nina
Someone needs help. The someone is everyone and everyone needs someone…
I promised my dear friend, Simon – whose Liberian homeland is being ravaged by Ebola – I’d share his post. It would mean a great deal to Simon’s loved ones, both near and far, and to all areas afflicted with this disease, if you shared Simon’s message. I tried reblogging Simon Tocclo’s post, unfortunately, my new host site isn’t cooperating, so I did the next best thing and created my own post and linked to Simon’s blog/and his post.
Starved woman/pastel done in 1998 under different circumstances…