How I Feel

October 7, 2017 § 13 Comments

Christinasworld

 

How I feel when I breathe in that smell of rain-soaked earth.

When I drink too much and my voice comes out too loud.

When I touch my father’s false teeth.

When my mother’s eyes flickered open and stared at me the moment before she died.

When I close the door of my studio and think I’ll never paint again.

The warm lick of my daughter’s dog.

That silence in the middle of a conversation which I always want to fill and wish I didn’t.

When I regret I am in love.

When I get away with a small white lie.

When I have my hair cut and get bored listening to the gossip.

When the doorbell rings, or the phone, and I don’t feel like answering it.

When I don’t look forward to him coming home, because although I love him dearly I want to be by myself.

When I dream of my dead brother and we smile at one another and I know he’s not really gone at all. I just can’t see him.

And when a poem comes and I don’t have a pencil, so I race home holding it tight before I lose it. Sometimes it’s too fast and slippery and it escapes.

How I feel.

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Image of ‘Christina’s World’ courtesy the estate of Andrew Wyeth

 

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