I hope this day is as special for you as you are to me. My sunshine in the dark hours, and my hope in the bleak rains. My respite. My baby. A very happy birthday, and more love than I could hide from you.
Forgive me, O Heavenly Father, according to the multitude of thy mercies. I have lusted in my heart to break a man’s skull and scatter the stench of his brains across several people’s back yards.- Leah Price, The Poisonwood Bible
It’s a sign of the times when being drunk is preferable to a single sober thought, and when life seems pointless, sober. In my heart, I have lost the right to decide how I feel and I recognize your song and sing it back to you. Because I understand where your music comes from, and even though I cannot dance with you…I can sing to you and hope that you understand where my music flows from too.
I wish I could however, introspect, and understand what I already suspect. What you already suspect. Only to understand, not to act. But I am forbidden to do so, and I will accept that. To think in rhyme and not prose.
I remember the time the whole familial murder mystery unfurled. I did not know what to do with the information. So I wrote it down on a piece of paper and submitted it to the lady in blue as we flew over to the land of our forefathers, that she may incinerate the tale or read it and know. And maybe she would know how to react. I just had to tell it. I just had to put it in words so I could understand what I already knew. Death is hard to accept, and when combined with a broken commandment, that much harder to hold in your heart.
But this is different, I could realize. I can think. But I must not. I hope to God that it is no more than a whim, a flight of fancy. But I am scared to think beyond that.
No comments:
Post a Comment