surrounded by dozens of people, yet feeling so alone, because it highlighted just how few people really understood her.
This is how you’ll find me if we ever lose each other she said. But how could I ever lose you he asked? And she smiled, and kissed him, and said aren’t we all a little lost sometimes?
The wild child is seven.
She lives between the middle of everywhere and nowhere,
the merry wanderer of the night.
Food in her hair,
love in her gaze,
mischief in her grin.
You won’t contain her in purple polka dots,
or tame her with ribbons and ties.
Champion of glee,
ambassador of life.
My Puck, my Hermes, my little Jo March.
My wild child.
Death came on Sunday. The father called and the mother ran. She held it in her hand and the girl came to stand beside her. They watched it silently churp, scarlet mouth, fading stare. The mother stroked, cradled, murmured. Death came unstoppable, inevitable.
Girl cried, pleaded, grasped for reason. Afterwards they washed death off their hands and went back to life. Girl sad and quiet, mother heart heavy, knowing that sometimes death can’t be buried in a red and white box and washed off hands with soap and water.
Mourn, ye Graces and Loves, and all you whom the Graces love. My lady’s sparrow is dead, the sparrow my lady’s pet, whom she loved more than her very eyes; for honey–sweet he was, and knew his mistress as well as a girl knows her own mother. Nor would he stir from her lap, but hopping now here, now there, would still chirp to his mistress alone. Now he goes along the dark road, thither whence they say no one returns. But curse upon you, cursed shades of Orcus, which devour all pretty things! My pretty sparrow, you have taken away. Ah, cruel! Ah, poor little bird! All because of you my lady’s darling eyes are heavy and red with weeping.
-Catallus
She thought that maybe, if she hardly left the house, and traded her glasses for earplugs, she might almost make it through Christmas without attempting to throw herself under one of the parade floats.
Almost.
I asked her what to do
and she smiled and said that too many people confused parenting with property development, always worried about future potential and renovating for market appeal, rather than appreciating the beauty of what was already there
and so I put down the tools, threw out the plans,
and we had ice cream for breakfast.
she smiled as the wind wrapped itself across her, and said, i love the wind, it’s like the universe is reminding us we are still alive
and he said, what about hurricanes and tornadoes?
and she laughed and said, don’t you get angry when no one listens?
She wasn’t just biting off more than she could chew, she was chomping, and hoping like hell someone nearby knew the Heimlich maneuver when she choked.
She began to wonder whether ‘beating all my highscores on the Wii’ would be considered resonable grounds for divorce.
she beat the drums hard and fast, and he leaned over and said, ‘who’s the girl?’ and she replied, ‘oh that’s just the truth, she only speaks when it’s silent’ and he asked ‘why are you making so much noise then?’ and she replied, ‘because I never like what she has to say.’
