I'm lying next to Sophie in her room. The sun is going down, and we're watching the light dim through the palm fronds that hang outside her window. They need to come down, but they'll cling there, dry and brown, rustling, until some wind makes it too much. When they fall, they crash. Husks are not supple. Sophie's seizures are elemental like that. They come, errant, and they stop. Dry palms, then clammy, then dry again. A glass mermaid hangs from a paper mâché elephant trunk, and a line-up of Japanese dolls look on. Pillows and rolled up blankets and a thick carpet cushion the fall. Bill Callahan is singing about too many birds. If you could only, if you could only, if you could only stop. If you could only, if you could only, if you could only stop your. If you could only, if you could only, if you could only stop your heart. If you could only stop your heart beat, if you could only stop your heart beat, if you could only stop your heart beat for one heart. If you could only stop your heart beat for one heart beat. Sophie and I are lying here on the purple bedspread, our arms entwined. I'll remember this, the rustling palms, the dry, small palm of her hand, mermaids floating and too many birds.
One more bird, one last bird, and another.
**inspired by Bill Callahan's Too Many Birds which you can listen to by clicking on the title
Have you seen the movie Marvin's Room..an older movie with a young Meryl Streep. It reminded me of you and Sophie though she she was taking care of her dad...worth watching.
ReplyDeleteI vaguely remember that movie and believe it worked better as a play!
DeleteThere is nothing to say except that somehow I feel as if I just swam through clear waters and rose to the air to hear birds.
ReplyDeleteMs. Moon -- your comments bring me peace and joy. Thank you.
DeleteThey're like a storm. Sunny, then destruction, then sunny again. Hugs to you, and peace to Sophie, from the seizures.
ReplyDeleteExactly, Deana! I know you know --
DeleteSophie looks upset here...what's the best way to soothe her?
ReplyDeleteMultiple tonic-clonic seizures will do that to you, e. I've been working on soothing her for more than eighteen years but have not figured out the answer -- yet.
DeleteAnother wonderful slice of life piece, Elizabeth. Keep writing. x0 N2
ReplyDeleteI've read all your posts this weekend, in awe, the writing so brilliant it blinds me and makes me see at the same time. sometimes it renders me speechless. i don't know what to say, it makes me feel so much at once. do you get tired of me saying the same thing? because sometimes i want to just chant it, your write like a sorceress, poetic and incandescent, even when you speak about the hardest things. i am over here praying that medical marijuana has some magic in its buds. love to you, dear elizabeth.
ReplyDeletei'm glad to be home from my travels and back on a computer that allows me to comment on your site. for some reason, my comments here disappear when i try to enter them on a handheld.
Thank you, Angella, for all your kind words and your support. This community is a wondrous thing --
DeleteMy goodness. You do indeed write like a sorceress. When you write about Sophie, sometimes I feel like you are writing about the oldest mysteries of the universe. It is so much. Your writing is everything, all of it at once.
ReplyDeleteDear, dear Sophie. How could she ask for a more eloquent chronicler of her life? I wish she could know how many of us care for her, for both of you.
ReplyDeleteyour prose is poetry. it speaks the unspeakable, and somehow, in speaking it, offers comfort to those who read. i hope it comforts you, in some small way, to write it.
ReplyDeletebeautiful and horrible.
ReplyDeletesending you both my whole heart....
ReplyDelete