2005-01-06 - 8:58 p.m.
my heart is full of wine, tingling with alcoholic tang and ripe red berries. pasta fugioli (fa-jhul by those who taught me to speak Anglo-Italian) reminds me of "grandpa" and too many good-byes one chilly summer. the beattles make my hips sway in the patterns I learned in class last month.
to the north mt. garfield looks over the valley looking so like a little girl in a white cotton skirt (with ruffles beneath) and an embroidered pink top (where it is too steep for the snow to cling). in this cold the snow is frozen to her for several days until she will melt before every other mountain in sight and take her true dominating stand before us.
somewhere to the southeast an old woman weeps for weeping. in her trailer she shuffles from chair to kitchen to bed tripping on her tears. her husband lies in the hospital closer to death than to her and they both feel this too well. she is old, lonely, and frightened. at this age, she has nothing left to live for. renting a car is nothing; preparing a meal for one is unthinkable.
sometimes one gets a glimpse of that person through their music. i feel closest to my dad, at times, in playing his old records that come from the days of his first family, the divorce, and bachelorhood. a romantic, he could not help himself from the music. tonight i play sinatra's songs for the lonely.
at a red light the other day i saw a boy lean over the car console and kiss his girl, they would pause to check the light then resume. i don't know why i smiled; it's a good sign that i can celebrate the love of other people again.
