Saturday, January 10, 2009

Letters for my father

I have (hidden at the bottom of my wooden bed) a box full of letters for you.
1st one dated six days post your leaving.
Last one-undated. (I no longer offer you my time, nor its recording in my handwriting.)
I shall never post these to your home.
Nor shall I burn these in a pile of autumnal leaves (their red and orange beauty does not deserve my hate.)

It is snowing in Edinburgh and I am healing.
I (too) will have beautiful, loving children.
They will throw your letters to the afternoon sky.
Paper aeroplanes of my words; like snowflakes,
cleansing, dancing, swirling, melting.

[This piece may also be named - 'A work spanning my winters from the ages of 8 til 25' ]
Posted by at 6:42 AM
Labels: ,

5 comments:

  1. this is absolutely beautiful. i am so happy i found your blog via your comment. i will definitely be visiting frequently.

    i was in edinburgh once, but sick with chikungunya at the time. what a waste...
    ReplyDelete
  2. aw lucie thanks a million. your blog is so moving and wonderful.you will go back someday, i'm sure . . .xx
    ReplyDelete
  3. brilliant. you have great talent.
    ReplyDelete
  4. you are so full of heart, little one, and in some ways so much bigger than me. perhaps not in stature, but many other beautiful ways.
    ReplyDelete
  5. this is what i mean by kerri-esque

    there is so much underlying aggression and fiestiness, yet your able to pull your reader back and indulge such precise discriptions and with strange elequence you just...eh, offering resolve in what your trying to realate, (do i read too much into your work? maybe, am i way off
    ? pehaps, but damn it love, you keep it interesting) i dont know how you do it, but i like it alot....kerri inspires sarah. alot
    xo
    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)