#13 summer solstice 2014

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At the end of February I closed the door on my father's loft. I had done what I could do. I had sorted and argued,  joked and cried with my brothers going through my parents' art work and possessions. I have received my portion of objects and have unpacked and absorbed the furniture, art and books into our lives. It is lovely to see how things I grew up with have infiltrated and inspired my vision. The blue and white albarello was often on the dining room table with tulips or forsythia.

As I packed my art work today I recycled all the materials we used to pack my father's sculpture. The bits of handwriting on the recycled boxes remind me of how I can't go back to that life. I have been dreaming about Dad and wanting to ask so many questions. It's almost a year since his heart attack. I play back the last phone calls, the patterns of questions, answers and misunderstanding. In the late afternoon humid hours my memory climbs ladders up and down to keep track of the years. My various forms of self dissolve as I step forward. I am awake and listen for the call of the future. The call of the road is singing my name like the earliest birds at dawn.

13 summer solstice 2014.jpg

White Night

All night

I float

in the shallow ponds

while the moon wanders

 bone white,

among the milky stems.

I saw her hand reach

to touch the muskrat's

small sleek head

and it was lovely, oh,

I don't want to argue anymore

about all the things

I thought I could not

live without! Soon

the muskrat

will glide with another

into their castle

of weeds, morning

will rise from the east

tangled and brazen,

and before that

and beautiful

hurricane of light

I want to flow out

across the mother

of all waters,

I want to lose myself

on the black 
and silky currents,


the tall lilies

of sleep.

--Mary Oliver

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