Dipthong/fever. Lovely and love nourish steam my face red
as a beefsteak tomato but only on the fever side. Do not attempt to
kiss me full of bees charcoal cow crust and pork roasting on a grill. I am
vandalized. I ache. Do not kiss me or whisper into my left ear. There is a
woman demanding a hospital bracelet. She turns to me and asks
can I have a fit? I grant her permission
of course certainly and right now if you want. We are here to bleed into tubes.
We are here to be whittled to perfect red and white cellular perfection. We
(the inhabitants of the hospital’s bowels) are wagalongs tagalongs everything
blue and brown shoes skirt shirt dirt. In the factory Keith used an air hose to
blow metal filings into his own eyes so he could go to the hospital for the
pain meds for opiates to feed his addiction. His feet hurt hands hurt thumbs wrists knees back bending and
bending into gleaming sheets of titanium for 27 years. Mine did too. We the fat the elderly
the female the hirsute the not quite right the sullen the
we-don’t-like-your-look the crazy will be first to go because we lack beauty
because we lack speed. I must be mindful now. My father once said if you see a
well-dressed man on the street he’s looking for a job. My father knew things.
18 years sober when he died you bet he knew things.
The vet arrived at 4:30 almost dark. She was so kind and clearly
besotted with Jupiter who watched everything. We swaddled Orlando in her
favorite blanket but first tucked in Paris’s favorite toy and a bundle of dry
sage and hurried out to the spot near the deer trail we dug for her. It was pouring
rain hard rain with dark bullying its way in. My son placed her in the hole and
I laid 15 daffodils near her head then I sat on the ground and shoveled dirt
into the hole with my hands then with my arms pulling the muddy wet hurrying
against the weather the night the sheer dark of the forest. I placed the rocks around her and my son placed
the wee stone cat in the center then my son played some bagpipe music on his phone
and wept and keened louder than I have ever heard and he and I were broken. I had to throw
my jeans my warm coat my garden gloves my sweater my hat and my green Converse™ shoes into the washing
machine.
An achy night.
A painfully empty day.
Hold your darlings close.
Be mindful.
Love
5 Comments:
Last night August stayed with us and he woke up and cried a little. I lifted him out of his bed and said, "You can sleep with Mer."
"No sleep," he cried.
"But darling," it's night, time to sleep."
"No night," my sweet boy sobbed. "No night."
But he soon slept.
I did hold him close. I did.
August knows. Love you both.
I am holding you and Page close. Such a sad night even the forest cried. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Deeply sorry for her loss and the ache. Her resting place is beautiful.
Xoxo
Barbara
Sorrow floats.
Sometimes, when grief floats to the surface out of the blue, grief for my father, for my older brother, for my beloved cat, Elmo, I think of that big black dog floating in the waves.
Honey, I'm so sorry you had to say goodbye to your beloved Orlando, but it sounds like you said goodbye in the best, kindest way.
I am holding you. For whatever it's worth, I am always holding you, beargirl.
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