There is light in unknowns – at least I project it there – caught between the current ashen landscape and the achings of a solitary childhood…
I like to think faith guides me but she is muted like the gardens of my dreams, more ethereal than palpable and I need concrete have waited too long for that train
of certainty to carry me away… course it never comes, there is no easy just a slow, steady plodding: a pace that age has settled on; so I turn to inner landscapes, imagination remembering colour…and yes, light.
Girls are lucky: just need to find the right man – looked after for life. Advice from a teenaged brother.
Right! I yell back, fifty years later. It was all a vacation – raising the children on my own looking for God in the midst of chaos partners with wandering eyes or absent…always absent… still waiting for that “looking after”
And how did you make out, Dear Brother? Oh, that’s right…married… woman with a good job willing to let you putter in the background
Guess we were both misled.
(No Idea! first appeared here November 2020. Image my own.)
Adolescence doesn’t wear a smile in our old photo album – stares fixated on unseen lint – distracted, we three sisters, all reeling from the cold, unwell, immobilized…
What is absent is the photographer whose pointed directions critique each decision – a derisive repetition that eats at our souls, each girl wrestling with self-nurture vs self-annihilation, landing somewhere in between – mannequin targets for male abuse…
Oh, I tried to take up arms, rail against the dominance, the oppression, but only succeeded in settling for disconnection, while one sister turned tricks for attention, the other retreated into full dependency, her madness, out of date, nevertheless relevant – despite our tormenter’s death, the images are permanently recorded in that old photo album.