HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Sunday, December 30, 2007 cups i woke up today early, unheavy. i had a dream last night. in the dream, i was in jfk airport, trying to decide whether to travel to pennsylvania or ithaca. i wanted really badly to go to ithaca. at the last minute, amidst grief, panic and indecision, i flew to ithaca, just as i had secretly wanted. i had a beautiful day yesterday with my aunt, sister, two crazy hyper girls down at the beach. me and my sister talked till we missed our mrt stop. the day before was mark and sue's wedding, which was beautiful, but whose memory is mingled with that of the family politics at our table. but i graciously accept the bad things in life because there are painful things i have discovered about our family since i have got home, which explains why my growing up felt incomplete and tense. and i finally feel that my childhood is finally finished, and i can move on. forgiveness is a tricky thing, comes only with understanding. last night, i found things in the kitchen. thoughts, unfinished prayers, an unprecedented sense of direction. last night, my grandfather came into the kitchen. my grandfather is incontinent, deaf and has dementia. "where's your twin sister?" he demanded. "i don't have a twin sister," i said, then gestured different heights. "oh, older and younger," he said. we then had a stilted dialogue, full of gesturing, about whether i was the older or younger. "are you cold?" i said. i was cold. i get cold after bad encounters. in an odd encounter, he took out his sweater and put it on me. i took the sweater, with all its foodstains, and put it on. we sat in the kitchen for some time, me wearing an 89-year-old man's sweater. both nursing our cups of silence. posted by dawn # 5:04 PM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] dog days running towards strong arms thought candle on the water first day home. i'm tired, emotionally exhausted, ... betrayals hunger pangs papers and winter strangely familiar [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Sunday, December 30, 2007

cups

i woke up today early, unheavy.

i had a dream last night. in the dream, i was in jfk airport, trying to decide whether to travel to pennsylvania or ithaca. i wanted really badly to go to ithaca. at the last minute, amidst grief, panic and indecision, i flew to ithaca, just as i had secretly wanted.

i had a beautiful day yesterday with my aunt, sister, two crazy hyper girls down at the beach. me and my sister talked till we missed our mrt stop. the day before was mark and sue's wedding, which was beautiful, but whose memory is mingled with that of the family politics at our table. but i graciously accept the bad things in life because there are painful things i have discovered about our family since i have got home, which explains why my growing up felt incomplete and tense. and i finally feel that my childhood is finally finished, and i can move on. forgiveness is a tricky thing, comes only with understanding. last night, i found things in the kitchen. thoughts, unfinished prayers, an unprecedented sense of direction.

last night, my grandfather came into the kitchen. my grandfather is incontinent, deaf and has dementia.

"where's your twin sister?" he demanded.

"i don't have a twin sister," i said, then gestured different heights.

"oh, older and younger," he said.

we then had a stilted dialogue, full of gesturing, about whether i was the older or younger.

"are you cold?" i said. i was cold. i get cold after bad encounters.

in an odd encounter, he took out his sweater and put it on me.

i took the sweater, with all its foodstains, and put it on.

we sat in the kitchen for some time, me wearing an 89-year-old man's sweater. both nursing our cups of silence.

posted by dawn # 5:04 PM

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