tales of a girl in the city

décembre 24, 2006

Died December 19, Age 63

Daddy, I will think of you every time I see a bird. A goose, a red-wing blackbird, a mallard, a goldfinch: I will know the difference because of you. I will notice the colors of their wings--the blues or reds or greys or blacks and think of you at our kitchen table painting those colors with so much care.

I will be the only girl in New York City who knows that you mount a wood-duck house at an angle so that the babies can get out of it easily.

Fall will always be my favorite season. Because the ducks are flying, yes, but also because I will marvel at the changes in the trees, and love the crispness of the air and its smell.

It has been my honor to have you as my role model, my teacher, and my friend.

You and I walked down our driveway once after a snowstorm and you told me to listen to how quiet the world was. We held hands and enjoyed it together. Wherever you are now, know that I will love you every day. And every day, I will wish you the peace and beauty of that snowy night.

décembre 14, 2006

Acherontia atropos

Spreads like a cancer.

I understand that now.

It means speed. Real life clipping along like time-lapse photography. Watching the x-rays as the dark moths spread. As they flit from lung to rib. From rib to spine. And from there to kidney, to brain, to liver, leaving every recognizeable organ swarming with black shadows.

Next, they rise to the surface, drinking deeply from the bruises that grow now, like flowers, on the backs of my father's hands.