Finnian is so dramatic.
mom- let me lie down here and pretend I am asleep and you take my picture
Dramatic but gorgeous.
Last night as I was cleaning out an old box in the basement a slip of paper fell to my feet. It was an old poem about an old friend. I have been "studying" (my gran says this instead of thinking and I love it) about this person lately and it was strange and cool that I found this. Page and I were so close in college and I miss her in my life now. We are fine and I adore her and we are friends still, but sometimes I get lonesome for her when I am writing. We were once the darlings of the writing program we attended. We were young and devilish and talented and life was insane. We ran off to Europe together to experience more life and work and write...Page went on to actually write- well at least to propel herself in the proper direction. I stayed on a tiny island afraid to write my stories. I was jealous of her and proud of her in the same moment.
I tell myself that she would be so great to have in close proximity this year as I tackle a novel. She would kick my ass and listen to me read aloud. Then I read the poem again, slower this time and laugh. We were so young. We were so just beginning our soak, our fermentation. I feel about properly aged now. I love to drift back to those times though. I love to jar my brain.
During a Christmas break at school
the winter it did not snow
my friend Page and I went on a bender
we're writers we need this
we would whisper in dirty bar bathrooms
(knowing fully that the alcoholic writer is purely an American phenomenon)
giggling searching each others eyes
for the look that meant
we were fine
things were fine
yet there was no snow and all we needed
was to lie down in it and make angels
to remember how young we were
to forget how much we knew