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| Blogs > wickedeasy > wicked and that ain't so easy |
"we are all just walking each other home" Ram Dass
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"we are all just walking each other home" Ram Dass She stood on her back porch, listening to the of the neighbor’s bug zapper, flinching with each sizzle. Her hand trembled as she lit up, a line ran across her brain, “smoking sawdust cigarettes in the middle of the night…”. The man in the bakery, handing her the collected works, what was she, 19. 20? It had moved with her, this book, dozens of times; more of a home than some of her homes had been. Now here in this house for such a long time, time enough to grow a , to bury a marriage, to witness the crumbling of kinships that had seemed built on stone. A life filled with small sorrows. She had learned to bend. As a she and her cousin who had lived in each other’s pockets would swing birches for hours, just for that moment when the birch having bent as far as it could would revolt, toss them up and away, into the sky into the possibilities. Ridding itself of the burden, the weight, finding itself once again straight tall, free. But sometimes, a birch would under their weight, the careless weight of youth. They would sit then, by the tree, no longer giddy youth but almost women, feeling the shame of breaking something beautiful. Having spent an hour driving, an hour sitting in a plastic chair waiting for someone to leave so there would be space for her to go in, she was almost dazed when they called her name and she entered the trap. Hands up, hands down, open your mouth, ruffle your hair, flip your ears, turn out pockets, fingers around your waistband. Her stomach knotted, her mouth dry. His face, his smile,suddenly she is ravenous. They talk about a book they’re reading together, about a letter he wrote to her Sister the Saint who wrote back, about nothing and everything, blessed be, but time was gone so they stood for a second hands against the glass before she turned to leave, looking back to see him watching her, to catch a last smile but instead catching him just staring so she touched her chin, he grinned. And now, now sleep was not hers to find. It would be a long walk home, this time. Still, it would come. You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
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obligatory comment You cannot conceive the many without the one.
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What a great inspiring read, I do hope all is well with you  Seduce the mind and see what a wonderful adventure the body will take you on.. 
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I just love how your writing is so distilled.... so feeling. My sister and I used to "swing palms", not up but down. Call you Sunday on my drive.
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Beautiful Words my Friend  Please visit my Blog "Older but no Wiser" 
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7/11/2018 5:35 am |
Funny how the stream always flows around the stones but manages to take a piece of the stone with it on its journey.
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Very beautiful wicked. Miss you hugs V Become a blog watcher sweet_vm
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I can smell the acrid smoke, hear the zap of each bug, feel the cool glass under my hand, my heart aches with hers. Beautiful words. Thank you. "Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is relax." – Mark Black
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