assemblage
Funny the things that happen when you have children and mortality arrives at your doorstep.You think about the moments of your youth the moment of consciousness, the moment you see your self outside of your self.
I always think of my hands how they grew and how when I looked down and saw them as i cried writing a letter to my mother somewhere in america.
How i saw the nimble cracked hands clutching the pencil and writing as if it were a ransom note,
Those tears falling, and then that moment of knowing that these same hands will one day be big and strong and belong to a man. I remember that day now as it were yesterday.
My daughter tonight held my face in her hands and stroked my cheeks, and i felt her tiny pudgy hands on my brows and i remembered my hands.. Funny..
As the night fell I kissed her goodnight and thought of my granma
somewhere sitting watching the seasons change and thinking of all
her granchildren and her great gran that she has never met..
i feel the moments of my own childhood passing to be like a dream and a puzzle and a ight at the end of a long tunnel.
I return to that sacred place of dreams and dream myself
awake..returning to that assemblage, where the desert sky smiles
down on a growing garden belly landscape.
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