I took a memoir class in my junior year at MECA with professor Claude Caswell. He gave us many powerful writing exercises including several "free writes." One morning Claude told us to do a free write on the topic of lost love. "Write about lost love for 30 minutes," he said, and he set the timer.
Lost Love
My heart is beating
fast
scared.
Write about lost love
he says.
All I can think of
and how
I lost the little girl
that she was
that day
in sparkling summer.
She'd been ill
and was feeling better
then awoke
that morning
saying
Mommy
I don't feel good.
I laid her on the couch
and gave her some Tylenol.
Twenty minutes later
It happened.
She was grey
eyes rolled back
the whites of her eyes now yellow, moist
a faint clicking in her throat
her body stiff
jittery
I yelled to Garry
to come.
Call 911
he said
and somehow
I did.
Waiting on the front steps
for the ambulance
the word epilepsy
playing
in my head.
The ambulance.
The men carrying her out.
Garry rode with her
I followed
in our car
praying
oh god
please
this is not
how I want to grow up
The ER.
Lisbeth
on the stretcher
they'd cut
her pink summer shorts
in half
tubes
down her throat
And Garry.
leaning over her tiny body
her shiny white blond body
her perfect pink six year old body
her blue eyes
shut.
What
(The Fuck)
was happening
wanting to turn and run away
Garry saw it in my face
and said
gently
c'mon Mart.
I walked to the cot
where she lay
and I
began
to sing to her.
I sang all the lullabies
I'd sung to her
when she was a baby.
I knew what my job was
now.
Years later I would dream that Lisbeth was just an egg
an egg that I could hold in my hand.
The doctors came in and said
that they
could re-attach her head
but
I saw them look at each other
worriedly
doubtfully.
I saw them do that.
And all the king's horses and all the king's men
couldn't put Lisbeth together again.
Kaitlyn and Lisbeth at Mount Hope, 1987
pastel and oil on Rives BFK, 22" x 30"
collection of Edna Simmons
Kaitlyn and Lisbeth, 1987
pastel, oil, charcoal and pencil on Rives BFK, 22" x 30"
collection of Robert Johnson
7 comments:
Tears in the morning--it doesn't matter how many years go by...
Yeah, I know. I think Anne Lamott wrote about grief, "The break heals, but afterwards you always walk with a limp..."
Heartbreaking... the scariest thing someone can imagine - any harm coming to your child.
ps you have a beautiful family!
yes, it's right up there at the top of the list of worsts.
i do have a beautiful family - and they are all amazing individuals.
thankyou!
martha,
this poem is so powerful. I'm in tears--out of nowhere.
Thank you for sharing so much of your heart and mind. you are a really wonderful communicator and an inspiring prolific artist!
thankyou, anon
we all have a deep well of tears. life is hard! as my son andy says, "poop occurs." it is a good thing to prime the pump and a have a good cry every so often...
thankyou for your feedback - it's my aim to try to connect with others - to feed my own muse and to (hopefully) feed yours!
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