fine.

"don't worry about me." she said, "i'm fine. just fine."
she turned to walk to the door.

"i do worry." the lady replied. "all night i lie awake."
"and i have no peace of mind, too. i'd like to know that you're alright."

"well, i am, see? i'm here. alive. i'm okay."

"i'm not so sure." said the lady, and they parted ways.

Post War

A young friend of mine--a boy--his mother died and I made him a card as if it were his birthday. He didn't say much. We've seen each other since, but it's been different.
Margy and I haven't been getting along. So strange, she seems so preoccupied, so sure of the life she leads. She seems to know everything and she's leaving me behind.
The other day, Henry and I fought, and we thought we'd made a mistake. The next day I ate nothing and only drank water. I wanted to somehow clean myself inside. I was so tired, and I knew I had missed the mark.

Katie walked by me at work and I wondered what her life was like -- she had two children and she was so young.

On a Tuesday, it was raining and quite cold. I didn't work that day, and stayed in. Henry was driving a long way from where I was, and the rooms in the house were gray. I sat alone and wondered why things felt so strange. And how do I seem okay with things when they feel a certain way, when the truth about things was clear -- nothing was strange at all.
James and Christa had left town. I hardly noticed. Some people make some kind of impression on others, leave a lasting impact. Others simply don't and that's fine. I wondered where I landed in the mix...?

That night ended with a sad, slow song, and a tired kiss. Henry and I slept in seperate rooms again.



I have always kept three clocks in the kitchen : a big black and white one, which hung beside Henry's ink portraits, a smaller wooden clock, and little kitchen timer that sat on the shelf above the stove. They all ticked at different times and to anyone visiting it might be stressful, but to me it was so beautiful and I loved the sound. Henry would sometimes take the battery out of the wooden clock because it was the loudest. I always put it back. We'd never talk about the clocks, but it was a constant and unspoken battle between us.

On Saturday, I didn't eat much. I vacuumed and tried to write song about my friends --  the ones I never speak to anymore, but I couldn't even remember some of their names, which truly saddened me, and I didn't want to leave anyone out, of course. I left the piano and went for a walk instead. Henry was out in the garden planting tulip bulbs at the wrong time of the year. I once told him that my grandpa who died when I was quite young had a green thumb and an impressive garden, and that I remember that fondly about him.
Henry has long since been trying. I do like that about him, but inside, I hate that he can't do it like my grandpa did.
I closed the gate when I returned from my walk and Margy was sitting comfortably on the porch with gin in her glass and lips of pink. I was surprised, of course, to see her there. She rarely came around anymore, so busy all the time.
Henry had left -- gone to the green house in town for some assortment of seeds, and so there we were, just us. It was a little bit windy that day, and Margy was wearing a large brimmed sunhat. It blew off once as we spoke about the distance between here and Germany by plane, and after that she kept one hand on the top of her head, securing her big hat, and on hand swirling the ice in her gin every two minutes or so. I observed her mannerisms more than I listened to what she was saying.
I know she didn't say anything important, and I would laugh at all the wrong times and she would tell me I'm strange.

Last week I fell down the stairs and Henry held me as I cried. I was embarrassed. That was the closest we'd been in months.

Maybe I am strange, but I've always believed that we all are. Maybe to comfort myself.

I was offered a lovely job. Not steady work, but was what I wanted to do. I simply never went. Instead I'm this. I try to love it, especially knowing Henry works so hard. But really, I hate it. And I tell myself, "You're so young. Do something." But I haven't yet. I will.

This girl I know, Maria, she's always been more intellectually minded than me, or she pretends. She's on a flight to the other end, to venture on a grand love affair. She says she found God, but she's lost him, really, turned away. I told her it's her life, of course. But I wanted to slap her in the face. I knew I shouldn't feel that way.

The telephone hadn't rang for nearly two days, and I wondered about Charles' father who was waiting to die and when would we get the call?
I prayed for the family.
I turned on some lamps in my studio. I was just so gray that day. I painted white over a piece I had been working on. I wasn't satisfied and then the telephone rang. Did I have to answer? I could be gone, out of the house, who would know?

Beth and Damien lived far away; it was good to receive a letter from them, I felt so loved then. Beth had that way about her.

Henry mowed the lawn. I looked out the kitchen window and everything out there was well done and very tidy. But I knew he wouldn't empty the grass catch and that I would have to do it, and I thought, "oh, that's fine." But really it angered me. And as I looked out the window, my eyes focused on the glass and I realized how dirty it was.

So I cleaned it.

Tomorrow we'd go to church, and I was glad.

I knew I had to clean all the windows in the house. They were filthy and it was just now that I had noticed, even after all these months of looking through them.
I felt ashamed. I knew it meant more than what it appeared.

I sang a hymn while I emptied the grass catch.

inheritance

That sly river, fear.
it seeps often in
and i curl and cringe and feel it coming strong
first dampness then wetness then
soaking through


how do i find dry land
how do i reach
how do i ...


breathe.
god.


he says, come on
he says, i love you
as you are
right now
i give you land to stand
inheritance,
beloved
outrageously loved
he says, it is this way, because i am this way
i love you because i love you because i love you.
just because that is me.


you can love me, too.
outrageously, beloved.
be thankful and sing.
you have been lifted out.


taste
live it
freedom from the smallness of the life before.
freedom from the strings and ropes and snares.
the river, fear.


take me in. let me go there.
he says.


i will not stop.
i will not go away.
i will not let you go.


my love will fight that river,
build a dam.
it will not touch you.


because i love you
because i love you
because i love you
and my love
casts it away.
outrageously,
my beloved,


he says.