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Show yelled at him and the mother who watched, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder like a scarf, you are in a bucket, a bucket, a bucket, you are in a bucket, alone. What if, for a moment, what if, for a minute, I allow myself to be the pig, the baby, the sister, the man who welds within inches of his face, what if I were to imagine how it feels to pull your child from the bottom of the pool, consider the heft of a hammer, be the girl on the tractor with her belly exposed to the world, what if I were to stop and let all that pain wash over me, what then? Am I willing to meet the world's suffering or do I laugh? Am I willing move through the loss or do I rage? And if, for a minute, for a moment, I do stop laughing, stop raging, stop trying to bend the world through will, and listen to the fear deep inside me, the fear of being left, being alone, being unloved, what would I see? 194 |