Thursday, April 27, 2017

Perhaps there is a touch, a light touch between us

After a brisk walk I turn into 10th street, and the moment I spot the apartment building, the sprinklers in the garden come alive: first with an intermittent stutter, and then with a full-throated singsong; which makes me take a step back, and notice a rainbow hovering, trembling there, in the spray of water. 
It brings back a moment, an unforgettable moment of that morning, ten years ago, when my mother walked out slowly—with her head held high—as if she was blind to the splash. 
Now I wonder if mom knew where she was going. What was her goal, her direction? Where, in God’s name, was her there
I remember how her wet dress clung to her body, and how she receded into the distance with her packed suitcase, which seemed to become soggy after a few steps, never once stopping to wipe it, or to turn her head back. 
Her tears are still here, in the rainbow. I wait for the nozzle to go through its circular motion, and then slip past it, sensing the last of the mist, right here on my skin. At that moment I imagine myself crossing right through her ghost. Perhaps there is a touch, a light touch between us. 
I feel a breath of air as she fades away and I come in. 

Ben in The White Piano


 Looking for a Mother's Day gift? 

Volume II: The White Piano
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Volume I & II, woven together: Apart from Love
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Few authors would be able to pull off the manner in which the apparent polar opposites of Ben and Anita begin to bond... but Poznansky has the visual and verbal and architectural skills to create this maze and guide us through it. 
~Grady Harp, HALL OF FAME reviewer

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