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.

Posted by on
Labels:

2 comments:

  1. AnonymousAugust 1, 2009 at 5:33 PM

    This is just beautiful.

    ReplyDelete
  2. AnonymousAugust 24, 2009 at 2:53 PM

    Patty,
    This entry just takes my breath away. Hugs.
    Susan

    ReplyDelete

Please leave a comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
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