Almost Nearly Barely

Mom and Dad sat at the kids' table which was sweet in a way but also, oddly satisfying in that the lowered station almost, nearly, barely, soothes some sort of power dynamic in the family. It's as if they have suffered too long trying to redeem or connect something frayed in their own children and now they turn towards the grand kids. This and other family minutia involving grand feasts and 1001 ways to pretend everything is okay.

When hanging prisms, I remembered selling sun catchers as a kid for a class fundraiser. I never wanted to sell them and besides, we had no neighbors or relatives close by. My only options would be to call people on the phone and try to describe what each sun catcher looked liked in hopes of a convincing sale. I, an image, selling an image to an image. I remember a CCD teacher at church buying one and before delivery, I got see what they looked like. They fit in the palm of my hand and I wanted to keep them. A cardinal, a hot air balloon, a rainbow arching into two clouds.

A day after Thanksgiving, multi-colored Christmas lights float like constellations in a green universe. At 4 a.m. it's the preferable light. Out at this time, in this cold, the smell of pending snowfall. Leaves frosted and frozen, a sounding board for even the slightest of moves. In these quietest times I think of the informality between lovers – the direct presence – the fact that everything is forbidden but love.

I was dead and brought back to life. Hence this utter need for a taste – the flavor of God still fresh on your lips – the home we made of the barren tomb. Oh my sickness and remedy! This all consuming fire!

What do we care what is done with our ashes?