Friday, April 3, 2009

Sorry, Reader; Thank you, Ashma; Here's a bonus piece:


My Love, I have finished thinking up the story our daughter will hear. She will ask me where the came from. I will tell her she is an eyelash of a cloud that blinked too hard. You fell with the rain. Your mother (that's you) was in my arms; we were in a coarse red desert to sleep in the first rain of the year and search for flowers that bloom for three days before disappearing into the dust again to sleep until the next rain. I saw you fall from the sky and I whispered into your mother's ears (those are your ears) how beautiful our daughter would be, and I told you mother that our child would be the eyelash of a cloud that blinks hard and she laughed with her face on mine. You were drawn by your mother's laugh (that's your laugh) and fell on her tongue and your mother swallowed you. The harder she laughed the lower you reached in her belly, until you could go no further; and you tickled your mother from inside and made her laugh even harder. And one day, as I chased your mother in the desert of red dust, you wanted to join us in play. From the thickest, darkest tumbling ripple of your mother's hair, behind which hide secrets known only to me, out you tumbled, bathed in water and light; and you climbed to your mother's eyes (those are your eyes), and kissed them and filled them with love, and you climbed down to your mother's throat and filled it with the songs she sings to you and all the stories about mountains and coyotes and finches and cottonwood and birch and pine; and you climbed down to your mother's breasts and kissed them and filled them with milk. My child, that is how you came to us (that is you and I), from a blinking cloud over a red desert. We couldn't go wrong, you know we couldn't go wrong -- she would have your eyes hair nose shoulders fingers ears toes, and she would have my mouth. She would be prettier than dandelions in a summer afternoon; she would be dearer than the heart of a dark stone shade in our desert of red dust.

Thank you, Ashma, for emailing this to me.

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