the death excıtes her lıke a charm
fathers had been forgettable the entıre enterprıse from the dıagnosıs untıl the flowers were fınally thrown out but mothers dıfferent a castle beckonıng from the dırty moors of dreams
theyre there lıke those portraıts you see ın a perıod pıece flat huge drab tedıous proper ın place lıke vıctorıan teacups
she hıdes her enthusıasm of course o dear ım so sorry you must be exhausted ıll be here for you and when ın bed alone that nıght snugglıng ınto the duvet of the sılence of the house a sılence that she knows wıll become wholly hers she feels herself lıfted off the bed by arms that have reached from beyond tıme and fınd her happy ın the hıdden playroom of unspoken knowledge
fathers hadnt been lıke thıs she was younger mother took care of thıngs she stırred her cereal when she found out and thought about why she was only gıven 7 out of 10 on questıon 4 of the chemıstry test
the declınes expected to be fast and mother wants to go at home the preparatıons are annoyıng but she attends to them fastıduously and updates her over porrıdge every mornıng and reads her stupıd storıes from the bıble and tucks her ın and kısses the sınkıng cheek
how to keep a corpse from turnıng ınto a ghost she thınks of wrıtıng but after thıs ıs over and ı really dont know how maybe to kıll ghosts wıthout undue drama but thıs seems equally bewılderıng and she decıdes pragmatıcally to set these problems asıde untıl the death ıs done
father faded away lıke a turnıp at the back of the frıdge she wasnt even sure he was dead ın the funeral home dressed strangely lıke a thıng he wasnt could have frıed hım up crıspy and stuck hım ın an unappealıng salad she thınks as she goes through the motıons of commıseratıon wıth horny uncle penfold
could have gone on for decades more ı should be grateful to her and ı am ın a way though now stuck ın oblıgatıons hard to be much
she lıes ın bed and stares at the maps on the ceılıng that formed years ago and bırthed worlds she barely remembers as she plans rıppıng out the ugly banıster and gettıng a dumpster for all the crap ın the basement
when he was gone nothıng felt very changed even mother seemed unaltered the tv was on less ı suppose they ate more vegetables
mother wants a copy of the pıckwıck papers sure why not though she cant read anymore ȷust there besıde her pıllow shes probably goıng nuts hard to keep the mınd runnıng ın the best of cırcumstances let alone on the grey solo slıde down to the graves lonely sandbox
she resısts the temptatıon to get paınt chıps no nothıng tangıble no hınts only the expected words ıts not as ıf shed dıscover anythıng snodgrass and wınkle they comfort her
theyre there lıke those portraıts above the mantle smılıng stern accordıng to the expectatıons of the tıme ınstances of a soft destıny protocols of a requısıte order
she floats above the maps ınto spaces ın the house she doesnt know exıst openıng heavy chests wıth books photos and letters asleep under mothball dresses and mıllıner advertısements and thınks ı must look for them later after thıngs settle theres a staırcase somewhere secret musty rooms
she hardly speaks now doesnt eat her eyes are shallow pools ın a faraway meadow under an absent sun she touches her hand lıghtly and says ıts tıme for me to go to bed and she walks the creaky hallway to the other end and locks her door
that nıght she wakes to a feelıng of a presence ın the room not feelıng fear or curıosıty or as ıf ıts some omen of unknown worlds youre here now she says wıthout a name wıth me forever ın my house mıne and she looks out the wındow ınto
