Bouquet for Lizzy









Elizabeth's Channel


When she

finally

discovered

the channel that

her daughter used

to swim
upstream

she felt as if she had joined her

and found a way of countering

death
throwing herself

into her daughter’s skin

or was it

her daughter in her skin

the two

of them

working

furiously

to beat back

the waters that must go down.

Sitting on the rocks at the falls

water gushing over her body—

it is good to be alive.

Riverfest 2009


Went to Riverfest today, and remembered when Elizabeth and Ryanne and Cassie all performed the puppet show in the Kiddy Corner near the post office.  The children wore hand puppets of animals and acted out a play about the environment.  Her picture was in the paper.   There were children over there today.  


How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry