A few events in the past week got this going. Photo is of a glass of wine I had tonight.
Death is tedious. It greets you with reminders of each time you met.
Death waits as a body turns against itself, eats an apple while seated on a windowsill choosing whether to nod at its name being called.
Death puts coarse molasses sugar over memory, then sears it brown. You take your teaspoon to crack at the glaze to let the memory breathe and stir it. The shellac cannot be broken.
Death jumps backward to parrot screams, coughs, laughs, a fond sigh, drowsy breaths that were once strong and pressed against you. It is a refrain only for you. You recall the light and who and the touch and are almost there. Almost. But they are the ripples Death has sent forward to you, and they break.
Death then leaves to sit on another windowsill, says that it will meet you again in the past, the future, or a sudden now.
You move forward, the only thing you can do, and see the compressed ripples before you, the laggard ripples in your wake, and wonder which of them Death will borrow and send to another.
4 comments
as writing: the reminders, the windowsill – yes those are tedious and I really like the basic idea. The really good and more extended metaphor about the molasses sugar isn't tedious to me. Death parroting, in a way the verb 'parrot' which shows how obnoxious death is a great verb but gets a little lost next to those other really dramatic verbs – screams, coughs, laughs… underlying implied intent – to insult death – totally works for me. as feeling: anger and loss however necessary still suck so I'm sorry.
Death. Life. Birth. So much to be said and hard to capture. Death is not boring, however. It is everywhere and always different. Interesting and important.
Very much enjoyed your thoughts and phrases. With it, a sip of cabernet sauvignon, and good reflections. Thank you.
Thank you, Ellen! Stared at "parrot" the most trying to sort out something else.
What a lovely piece. I like the image of not being able to crack the shellacked glaze–exactly. Really excellent writing, B.
How was the wine?!