Shadowchild by P.F. Thomese

What a beautiful book this is.  I have only read a few pages but already I want to read more by P.F. Thomese, a Dutch writer whose little girl died when she was a few weeks old.  The book was published in 2005, in a translation from the original published in 2003.  Here is an excerpt:

Does love disappear when the person disappears? Where does the love go when the body is burned to ashes? It flees into similes.  The body has been taken from the earth, but not all the things that remind you of it.

 "Thine eyes are like the ponds in Heshbon, by the gate of Bathrabbim: thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus. Thine head upon thee is like Carmel..."  Like, indeed, like, like. Love looks for an embodiment it can no longer find.

from Nicholas Alciati

I carried a blue plastic dinosaur in my pocket today.
That dinosaur traveled with me to Poughkeepsie to student teach.
That dinosaur ate my awful fast food lunch with me.
That dinosaur was in my pocket when I did a presentation on Robert Rauschenberg today.
That dinosaur was with me when I had the usual hummus and pretzel dinner.
That dinosaur was with me when I sat in my room listening to the Garden State soundtrack remembering the time we sang every song on the railroad tracks.
That dinosaur has gotten me through a lot in the past three years.
That dinosaur was in your dorm room and was given to me by my mom when she broke the news to me three years ago, tomorrow.
That dinosaur was with me at your wake and funeral.
That dinosaur was with me when I decided on which college to go to.
That dinosaur was with me whenever I was having a bad day.
That dinosaur was with me when got admitted into BFA photography program.
That dinosaur was there when I made a book, just for you.
That dinosaur sits next to my bed every night.
That dinosaur is one of the only physical things I have to remember you by.
That dinosaur can never make up for your absence, but the memories I have make things better.
I am so lucky to have known you and without you I may be going to school to just be a number in our society.
I may have denied my artistic passion, but you pushed me to embrace it, rather than hide it.
You influenced me in ways that I think you could never understand.
Although you are gone, you have given me more than most people have in this world.
Gone is such a permanent word, you're not really gone, you're here in other ways and that helps me get through my days as a busy photography student.
I love you Elizabeth, and with your blue dinosaur and the memories I have, I can get through anything.

Beauty

The bearded iris in bloom --
the leaves newly opened --
she cannot see these --
and her beauty we cannot see --
This is how we are all diminished
and almost crushed

The nestling fell

The nestling fell from the tree near the back porch just about dawn.
My cat who visits me in my lap
and looks at me with sweetness and dependence and gratitude
burrowing his snout into my hand as I pet him,
that creature snapped up the nestling and carried
him in his mouth proudly, his tail swaying like
a victorious pennant.

After much subterfuge
we got him to open his mouth
and the nestling fell out.
Of course it could never be the same.
His mother in a proper outrage
screamed a full five minutes
a single harsh note over and over again

I love life
just not my life
that goes on without her

The days begin today for instance
with perfect clarity
the sky blue, the water tower
across the street puncturing the blue
with its pointed tip.
But she is still gone
and tonight my last thought before
turning out the light will be
still gone.