thirst

 

when did she pack her bags?  i wonder… move out… tired of waiting for me.  i’ve noted her absence, of course,  noticed how she’d abandoned the garden sometime this summer. like that! gave up and walked out.  tired of trying to make that imitation of wilderness suffice for the woods and the water  for which she yearned. tired of trying so hard at assimilation.

i imagine she’s out there somewhere, sitting next to the lake, watching the loons dive for fish, diving herself now and then. more ‘now’, than ‘then’. or she’s sitting on the dock, her feet in the water, dangling,  remembering that day when the tadpoles lined up in the spaces between her toes, as if she were something to eat, or a safe place to dock.

mostly she’s quiet out there. no need for distraction… from pain. it’s allowed its space to be.

this morning, she rose like a fish for a moment, a glimmer in the water, sudden tears from seemingly nowhere. Godde, what is it about these women from amsterdam ? hillesum…. dickow…. is that You drawing me in?

the water is full here.  

drinkable.

bathable.

it falls from the sky

geese fly in it.

home.

 

 

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: the midwifery « Emmaatlast’s Weblog

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