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Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Goodbye

Take me back to that place, Mother...that place of empty bottles and broken furniture, of divided home and split lips, of tired hope and shattered dreams. I was but a child who saw very little through the safety of your shroud. One quick look around the landscape, I’ll take a snapshot and never ask you again. Perhaps I’m being harsh, but will it kill you to go there one more time? And if it does, is it not better to know that you faced the years that aged you far too soon than to end your days running from them?


I must see it for myself; she runs, Mother, just as you do. I never raised my father's fist, but she cowers from me now. I never came home as dad did, smelling of odd perfume at unholy hours, but she'll never again grace the marital mattress. The weight of her world, the poison of her plight, the apple that was ripped from her eye, it’s all of my making it seems...all mine. Is it really all mine?

I slam down the phone as her words ignite me. Our anniversary approaches:

“You should just go to work; you need the money." She mutters with stinging indifference. "I'll be stuck with the kids anyhow...
ho hum...but I'll see."

She sees nothing. 

Tell me, Mother, how a woman's heart breaks. Take me to where the road meets the ugly turn down that dark path. Read me the chapter in the romance novel where the plot betrays the reader and Cinderella is left crying on some curb, her dress a mess, cursing the night sky that collapses all around her, swearing herself to solitude for evermore 

Tell me why my wife can’t find a fragment of hope as I lie in pieces at her feet, a sad author offering to rewrite the final scene. You won’t tell me. You can’t. You're afraid to read your own dark fairy tale. Brave one gaze upon the years you left behind; you painted them over with gold but now the true color bleeds through and the picture is blurred beyond recognition. Could you have fixed it? Now time will not afford your effort to be whitewashed and begun anew. Now the gallery empties out, the patrons confused.

She’s on your path; I can see her off in the distance far behind your heavy steps. She’ll catch up. I can’t stop her. I can’t convince her that it’s not too late to take a chance on the narrow road back. She'll not hear me as I call to her now. 

There’s really very little left to say; you both want it this way. 

I’m defeated, though I fought well. I mapped out long impossible routes to rescue a dream. My spirit is extinguished. My feet fail me. My vision is blurred from sleepless nights. I cradle the dream while it bleeds out in my arms. I arrived too late. I hoped for the hopeless. I threw my only penny into the well. I wished upon the last star that fell from the sky and blacked out the night. I chased you, I chased her. I ran this race alone. I’m calling it a day. Sorry to have disturbed you both. I thank you for your time taken in reviewing my resume of resurrection.

3 comments:

  1. Are you closing your blog down? Hope not! We read this blog a lot, and have enjoyed it immensely! Keep writing!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Where do you go fro here? More "Letters Home" please!

    ReplyDelete