I am on a small boat in the middle of Cayuga Lake. I know Henry is sitting next to me, although I am not looking at him. There is a woman sitting on the other side of me, she has a young daughter and a partner, she went to Wells too. Also on the blue water is a barge-like boat. Not as big as a barge but flat and industrial looking. It is not too far away from us, close enough to see with some detail, that the deck is flanked with dozens of vultures. The vultures are enormous and exaggerated sort of like muppet vultures but not funny ha ha muppet, more like dark crystal material. Then I am in a dark red room and this is where the dream fades.
I know it has to do with Rose. I have been thinking about her a lot. I have been thinking about how the last moment I saw her was in no way in my mind the possible last moment. I was in a gold LeSabre (rental car). She was pulling away from the SeaTac airport, I was entering the rental car area. I had followed her to a gas station, she and Henry and I hugged and then she led the way to the airport. I told her we would try and save money to visit the following year and she said she would try to get back east soon. It was sad but matter of fact. I am so good at denial, a professional really, and it was too painful to think that Rosie would die before we both had gray hairs so I convinced myself that she wouldn't. I crave a conversation with her. I need a conversation with her and her nutty laugh. I need her advice. I need her support and I selfishly don't believe, will not believe that it is forever gone. And frankly all of that Buddhist bullshit about knowing she is spiritually here and that I just need to pray and think about her, well it is not enough and it makes me angry. There I have said it. I feel cheated and the worst part is that I have cheated myself. I have committed the ultimate cliche, I've taken someone for granted and lost them forever.
2 comments:
From Blossoms
-by Li-Young Lee
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
***
Poems are good, but probably not good enough. Probably nothing is good enough.
I just want to say, please don't beat yourself up for taking things for granted. It is a cliche, but only because we all do it. Darling, how else could we live?
that is so beautiful. tears.
thank you.
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