I slipped your picture out of my left pocket, where I keep so many things. But today, only your picture, folded, soft. So I stared at it like I normally would, ran my thumb over your face, kissed your feet. Then. I looked again and saw how your face was turned, sadness filled me, shock and denial. Because I knew then what was happening. Your hands usually in their prayer position, now closed, the clouded halo you don, now only gray smoke, the cloak usually teal and gold, now just dim-lit cloth. That's when I knew. My heart would break later. The heart no one can save.
the link between sanity and insanity is but a snap: almost like a twig beneath your shoe in november and what happens when you can't leave your home because your anger and fear keep you prisoner, and all you want to do is be loved and be good at loving and quit hating everything including the cheap folgers coffee when you really wanted the good stuff from central market or why you can't reach your mother anymore because her pain is rearing it's ugly head over the phone and your siblings don't have much to do with you anymore, why? who really knows, maybe it's because you are becoming the one thing they hate the most but you don't know what that is and in two months you'll be 36 and you still do not have children and you are in financial ruin and you don't have the one thing you really want which is that front porch swing, but first you have to have the front porch. anyway. right?
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