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I Stay, I Go


12th June 2002

8:51am: Does anyone know who wrote this??
It fell out of an old folder this morning and I think it's just lovely.


A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.

No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.

This man carries the world's most sensitive cargo
but he's not marked.
Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE,

His ears fill up with breathing.
He hears the hum of a boy's dream
deep inside him.

We're not going to be able
to live in this world
if we're not willing to do what he's doing
with one another.

The road will only be wide.
The rain will never stop falling.

9:39am: I am thinking of Meredith this morning. She was so extraordinarily beautiful. Tall and lithe with long brown hair that flowed down & down like a river. A perfect face with a perfect nose - how rare! She was my beautiful fairy girl, the one I'd tend to every Tuesday morning.

Though she had half a house to herself, you'd always find her curled up in the kitchen in a corner on the cool linoleum floor. Everything in there was grey and nondescript except an old frayed pink towel on a hook with a small sign attached that read "Don't touch please, for decorative use only." How sad. How funny! how sweet...how sad.

Sometimes she was able to swim hard against the current and ascend and then she'd always tell the most spell-binding stories. Here's one I'm thinking of this morning...

"When I was a young girl of about 12, I was sent to a catholic school. My closest friend was a boy who was short & plump with a face like a cornish trumpet. (The mental image that instantly arose for me was of a short squat frame with a french horn as a head, the horn part being his snout - what the flack is a cornish trumpet!?? But one doesn't interrupt such moments with questions...and I was pleased with the image.) She continued, "We were the best of friends since he was the only one who would talk to me about important matters such as death & dying & suffering. So one day he said something which, at the time, I thought, being a catholic, I should consider uncouth. But I didn't. I revelled in it and still do. He said, "I think it only fair that when one is approaching death, one should have the unlimited right to scream as l o n g and as loud as one needs to." (My visual = 12 yr. old french-horn-headed boy filled with wisdom...) I warmly agreed and asked if she ever felt like screaming? "Yes, of course. But I don't anymore out of consideration to my neighbors..." I smiled and agreed that was very considerate but somehow I longed for her to have the right to scream, a place to scream as loudly, as unabashedly as she'd like and suddenly I wanted to scream, I wanted to scream til all of my guts came hurling out of me, I wanted to scream so long and so hard and so wretchedly.....for her. scream

She quietly slipped back in to where she goes to bear it all, slumping to the floor, haphazardly wrapped in a dingy too small blanket.

Dear, dear Meredith. I hope you are all right out there somewhere....
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