Saturday, January 4, 2014

Childhood #2 (with Tess P)

Perhaps like the fleeting scent of lavender soap, one’s childhood can’t be found for long in any one spot. With each living moment so much more than a mess to be cleaned up, funny how the insubstantial repeatedly spills the milk, how traces of sighs, whispers and hurried kisses burrow their way deep into the fabric of a warm buttoned coat.

Maybe the invisible thread of childhood’s fabric has wound its way around a brother’s hands, across a sister’s lips, made bracelets of a mother’s tears, and pulled itself through the eye of a needle that crosshatched your heart as you gazed at the clouds and even now you find that tug, that pulling at your core, a curious unraveling that serves to tighten the knot.

No comments:

Post a Comment