OCR Text |
Show Moon - 67 saw you then, floating toward him out of a dark, windless place. He said your hair was long and tangled. You were confused and lost and reaching for him as if you were calling for help. He spoke to you. He said, "Go away. Mother. You don't belong here any more. Go home." When I went away to art school, you sent me a telegram at Christmas that said 'Home is where the heart is." That made me bitter. My heart did not, could not, belong to Daddy. And it was, let's face it, his home. Now I see what you meant. You meant, home is where the heart is, in simple physical fact: where I am. Home is this very place, this very moment. The next moment is a new home. This must mean that we're always moving into someplace new, and if we refuse to see this, we're doomed like those poof trapped moths. The space we live in will be too small for us; we'll press against the glass and die sooner than we ought to, like you did. Then we'll float in the darkness, unable to let our bodies be lifted away from us. It's hard, I think, to say goodbye to a body you hated. Or did you come to love your body at the end? Was Lee's seance a fake, or something inside himself he needed to see on such a vivid screen? How much of what I think I know of you is simply my own creation? And how much of you hovers in the dark places in my mind, ruling me without my wish or will, without even my knowing it? It was sometime around then I decided I'd never have a baby. Someone's got to put a stop to this, I said. We are not blind worms cutting ourselves in half to perpetuate the species. We have minds. We have choices. That I am, nevertheless, a piece of you, that a piece of me is forever doomed to crawl |