fromthemouthofmoi

I am driving down The Palisades Parkway and suddenly I am overwhelmed with the feeling of missing Simon terribly. I pull off at exit three and turn into Oak Tree Road. It is dusk when I arrive. I enter the house, but I am in Cushman and Alice's  old home. The house is filled with others that miss Simon too. Everyone is in corduroy, chambray and well worn leather shoes. I feel like I am home. Different people come to me to show me things they have, that remind them of Simon. One woman shows me a puzzle she has made and on it she has painted various animals in various scenes reminiscent of Christmas scene folk art. Another young man has a worn photo of Simon he shares with me. Everyone is drinking whisky from short wide glasses. I notice Tony and he comes over to me, and he is so warm. His body is toasty. He stands behind me embracing me. We then go sit in a huge chair like this: He behind me and me cradled in between his legs. He feels so warm. He rocks me, we talk about Simon. I

All these years later Your eyes have returned To cast upon me a gaze I am older now And from whence I began I do not start I start with wounded knees And graying hair And a pocket full of irony I am told I must find my child And swaddle her with gold A precious thing, both her and me

I've returned to Blanche's house on South Street. The door is open as it always was, and I enter. I go up the short flight of stairs to the living area but the room is dark, cluttered, dusty and hung with Christmas ornaments. All the curtains have been drawn. I feel happy to be there and the condition of the house has not sunk in yet. I continue to wander around, going to the kitchen thinking I will make her a cup of coffee for when she returns. It is then that I notice the kitchen cupboards are blue and metal, half ajar, and no longer lovely wood. I also notice that all of the Christmas garlands are strung so low that I have to bend down to pass under. On a table, piled high, are various electronic music systems and I frantically search for the stereo that once belonged to her. I find it and wonder why it has been packed away in such a careless manner and why so much dust has accumulated upon it. I go into her office room where once a piano stood and instead there is a couc

Photo courtesy of Dr. Brian Glatt When I was younger and had the chance to walk around half undressed as only the young can do, strangers would often come up to me, with face screwed in a knot of fright, point and ask: What's wrong with your armpits? I stare at other women's breasts, constantly on the lookout, seeing where mine stand in this self inflicted imaginary lineup of perfection. I used to notice cleavages a lot because I didn't seem to have one. I have one now because I figured out: It's all in the bra, baby. I also notice women who have no need for a bra, and if I tell you the truth here, right now, I harbour great big green, smoldering stinking envy for these women. I hate them.  I've been shackled in a bra since the age of 6 months and women who can traipse around braless just get on my nerves. I inherited my grandmothers breasts, and if you ask me on what side that grandmother was, I will say: It doesn't matter because on both sides each

Someone recently commented to me that I failed to use punctuation. When they said this I thought to myself: Thank God for small miracles. What they might have said was: You use punctuation differently than I do. If they had thought about it a bit more, they might have said: Your use of punctuation differs from the norm. All true, but then, I don't think this entire blog is about, norm. If you heard me read aloud what I write, you would be able to follow along and accept my punctuation. If you knew me at all you would understand that my use of punctuation is absolutely correct and that your use of punctuation is for you, not me. Sometimes I fail to correctly write things, and will re-read something later and see a glaring mistake, but my punctuation is mine. That said, I have absolutely no memory of learning or being taught punctuation. I know what a noun is and I can identify one left and right, but anything else requires me to use a dictionary. What is punctuation? A bunch o

I was recently asked to read Jack London's, A Call of the Wild. The book was suggested to me because it had greatly influenced this acquaintance and they wanted me to read it as a way of understanding who they were and what had influenced their world outlook. Word to the wise: Do not ask people to read books who have literary backgrounds. I had never read this book, knew nothing about its plot nor much about the author. I downloaded the audio version as well as the kindle book, snuggled up in bed and began what I thought was going to be a story about hairy men wandering around in the woods: A Sasquatch hootenanny. Great literature withstands time because it can be re-read through the ages and analyzed over time taking into account new information about the author, the time it was written, and what it posits when analyzed by different ethnic studies, gender studies, historical studies, etc. Toni Morrison's, Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination, st