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| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3335 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Oh, How I Do Go On M Allow me to tell you this. The weeping has ceased, mourners gone home to heat casseroles, walk the dog, tuck themselves under down comforters. You are alone in our loft with what is left of me -- books, music, guitars, journals. All of it squeezes you like garlic in a press, crushes you through tiny holes like tomatoes in a sieve. Do not stay there; do what I would have done. Drive to Nye beach in Newport. Stride on sand to a spot that feels suspiciously like the middle of somewhere. Begin to twirl like a seagull drunk on sauterne. Uncharacteristically spin yourself silly until you fall in a heap. Go samba on the shoulder of US 20 West even though you do not dance. Embrace a shelf full of poetry volumes at Powell’s. Prance barefoot in a public fountain. Then tell a stranger something private about yourself. We did not fail; the answer was never transplants or miracle cures. |
