Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Ashes
How can you be gone? You were so beautiful. So vitally alive. A strong presence. And now, all that remains is ashes in a box and a hole in my heart that sometimes threatens to consume me.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Our lives are as weak as paper burning
Picture this: paper burning. Flames lick the edges. They curl, brown, and peal away like dead skin. Smoke saturates, encompasses and crowns the air. Black appears, consumes and eats the white, while the yellow fire grows with power, grins triumphantly in gold and laughs in red/orange/crimson.
Picture this: the car misses the turn and leaves the road, overturning. Everything is flying, the boy behind the wheel, the bikes in the back, the cell phone that I never find. Tumbling, tossing, flying momentarily with eerie grace. Smacking the tree, eating the ground; the tree sheers and cries with anguish. The boy dies with the night and the bright stars as his only witness.
The wheels spin and then, all is silence.
Our lives are as weak as paper burning. One snow capped Iris blooms in his garden, like a lost angel, and baby blue swallows sing a hungry song from the bird-house. I long to look in, to see them in their innocence. I satisfy myself with sitting on the snowboard bench, witnessing the proud parents dance, watching them bring food to their young.
Picture this: the car misses the turn and leaves the road, overturning. Everything is flying, the boy behind the wheel, the bikes in the back, the cell phone that I never find. Tumbling, tossing, flying momentarily with eerie grace. Smacking the tree, eating the ground; the tree sheers and cries with anguish. The boy dies with the night and the bright stars as his only witness.
The wheels spin and then, all is silence.
Our lives are as weak as paper burning. One snow capped Iris blooms in his garden, like a lost angel, and baby blue swallows sing a hungry song from the bird-house. I long to look in, to see them in their innocence. I satisfy myself with sitting on the snowboard bench, witnessing the proud parents dance, watching them bring food to their young.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Charlotte's Web
Muffled in memories, I walk my brain to the Panida, where DaNae and Nik Aguirre, the youngest goslings in “Charlotte’s Web” made their debut as “Petunia” and “Buster.” Garbed in soft yellow cloth and bright puddle boots, they marched across the stage in a tight train of feathers.
I rewind the video and watch the play with fresh eyes. DaNae, now 22, still loves the theater and will make another debut in a play at the Panida in October, while her younger brother, Nik, died in a car accident a day before his 18th birthday.
The tape rolls on, and the goslings scamper across the stage. They fall like a stack of dominoes, and the mother goose swings each one up and they call out their name. “Petunia,” DaNae says, grinning triumphantly. Buster, in typical Nik fashion, scoots backwards on his bottom away from his parent. She captures him and the audience laughs. “Buster,” Nik shouts. The audience claps.
I rewind the video and watch the play with fresh eyes. DaNae, now 22, still loves the theater and will make another debut in a play at the Panida in October, while her younger brother, Nik, died in a car accident a day before his 18th birthday.
The tape rolls on, and the goslings scamper across the stage. They fall like a stack of dominoes, and the mother goose swings each one up and they call out their name. “Petunia,” DaNae says, grinning triumphantly. Buster, in typical Nik fashion, scoots backwards on his bottom away from his parent. She captures him and the audience laughs. “Buster,” Nik shouts. The audience claps.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
