not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

early morning alone


i know you're lost.  i know you're found.  i know you're buoyant upon the waves.  i know you can't breathe beneath water.  i know you're sinking.  i know you're happy.  i know you're dying.  i know you forgot your favorite ball at school.  i know you've lost your father.  i know your dog will run away.  i know you came in first place.  i know you cry while you sleep and i know you forget it all by morning.  i know it niggles you though around your shoulders even while you laugh.  i know you've swollen the word laughter.  i know you've pushed its boundaries and given it new meaning.  i know around that meaning you are bruised.  i know you're hopeful.  i know you need for me to laugh.  i know you need to laugh.  i know your leg aches.  i know you think about extinction.  i know you wonder about war.  i know you like to kill zombies.  i know you watch light.  i know you watch me.  i know you like breasts.  i know you don't know why.  i know you are afraid.  i know you are curious.  i know you are alive and dying.  i know.  i know you love me.  i know you don't know why.  i know you're afraid of me, but only as negation.  don't make mommy mad.  don't make mommy sad.  don't make mommy disappear.  i know, i know you almost don't know this.  you only know it as a shadow.  i know the shadow only happened once or twice.  i know it was the smallest moment.  i know you collect pebbles.  i know how to hide shadows.  i know you know i think that you're the best.  my best.  your best.  i know around this you're lost.  i know around this you're found.  i know you close your eyes and imagine.  i know you don't know what imagine means.  i know that imagining is all you have.  i know you believe in the solidness of trees.  i know hugs heal.  i know silence cuts.  i know, i know you are alive.  i know you'll never lose your father.  i know what it is to lose a father.  i know we don't die.  i know we don't until we do.  i know you are alive.  i am here, right here, here, forever here, as real as any tree is real, imagine me here, your mother.  let's rise.

10 comments:

  1. oh, he and you are forever united. These affirmations are all about reassurances, aren't they? He is a lucky little one,surely lucky to be loved so.

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  2. As you show here in the inventory of what you know of in the ordinaries of a single moment, everything a child is a mother understands, is worth saying, is a form a comfort and yet can (and should) be tucked away at the moment of waking to the next day whose course is lined by what we know and fails only in measure to what we thought we knew. And all that knowledge packs so quietly back into the image. - Brendan

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  3. between your mind and his... this flows like eternity.

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  4. ted, thank you, it's in the living though, in the seeing of this very special boy on the cusp of life and hurt. on the cusp of his own joy too. i imagine it is this way for all children, one way or another, hopeful, sad, lonely, in the trust of those they love. it's a hard time now. but every day is a hard time. and easy too. his father will leave soon. and some of the binding he's had faith in will be undone/redone. i wait by his side.

    rosaria, i hope so. i hope this is enough.

    thanks aimee. you'd love him too.

    brendan, it's having stability in one hand and knowing the fissure rests in the other, happiness and sadness. it's deeply in him by nature. he's a complicated boy and doesn't even know that yet. his heart beats out through his bottom lip. sometimes he bites it back. sometimes he throws it further forward.

    lines, i like this very much, how you put it. it does go forever outward. it is different with my son - so different with my daughter. it's odd, these differences. she's so coiled and ready, but her vulnerability is still there in between her springs. it's just so odd. of course, i ache for them both. but they need me in such different ways. and i too need them.

    xo
    erin

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  5. thank you Laura. it was an easy shot to take but such a difficult piece for me to witness.

    xo
    erin

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  6. nice composition - a big slice of light and dark

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  7. i've been coming back to this for a few days. feels almost like treading holy ground. all these lines. all those words. i can almost discern something behind them. i think it's me. i think i'm there. of course you are, you say: you love don't you, you are loved? yes. yes, this comes at me from all sides.

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))