Saturday, August 02, 2014

Mother Revisited

(For Joni Soule)

Silence breaking.
Suffering this life.
She paints and dies.
She lives and cries.
We break apart.
We fall like dominoes into an unmarked grave.
I love her.
But that does not change anything.
I love her.
And that does mean something.
I heard her crying.
She was in the other room, 1385 miles away.
I have this bad habit of constantly interrupting her when we’re on the phone.
I don’t know if I’ll ever learn to shut up and listen.
Yes we’re artists.
And no there is nothing even the least little bit romantic about it.
She paints, but I honestly don’t know if that sets her free.
She lives and I honestly am not sure what any of this means.
She is not silent.
Pay attention and you will hear her asking for help.

Charles Cicirella

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