No Magic in Colorful Boots
to slog through muck
comes in waves
out of no where
washing over me
remember the joy
slapping slapping slapping
should make huge waves
but the water is too heavy
it won't move
even colorful boots
I collect images of shoes. This morning I played with this picture of boots thinking I would post a happy image and give my grieving a rest. Out popped this poem. Nutty as it is - my connecting things - its what I do and it helps me.
The boots are a photo I took yesterday when I went to Pyramid Atlantic to meet with Adjoa about our new class. I love Gretchen's collection of boots that the artists wear when they are making paper and sloshing across the wet floors in the paper mill. It was a good time. I felt happy - looking forward to the class - its challenging and we expect to work with a highly motivated group of middle school students twice a week until December. All is good.
On the way home I called Robin. She was at lunch with her friend Kay so we could not talk. I know. I know. I should not be driving and talking on the phone. Old habits die hard.
Holding the phone - my new burgundy cell phone - I thought of Mama. I often called her from the car - a quick hello on the way home. And it swept over me.
I can't call Mama.
My primary contact with my mother for the past 53 years has been the telephone. I can't call her. Missing her washed over me. I started crying - not a great thing in Washington, DC rush hour traffic.
To heck with it. I called Betsy in PA. She answered.
"Betsy, I can't call Mama."
" Oh, God, you're there!"
" What will I do?"
" Feel it. That's what you need to do. It will pass off - for now."
We talked. It got a bit better. For now.
" I am glad you called me, Ellouise."
I wrote to someone recently - friends are the glue that holds us together.
Posted by ELLOUISESTORY