Thursday, April 13, 2017

Dearest Rose, A Repost from 2012

Woman Writing Letter by Henry O'Hara Clive (1881 - 1960)


Dearest Rose,
For the first time I understand why men mortgage their souls for a diamond the size of a skipping stone.  I understand why dragonflies mate on the wind, their abdomens a perfect flying heart.  I know the thrill of the match as it lights the fire---and the fire’s joy as it consumes all it touches.  I even know the ashes’ ache as it smears your fingertips and touches your face as you wipe away your tears.

For the first time I feel.

I am the needle on the Victrola and you, the record.  Together, we become music.

Rose, you are the elusive drop of joy wrung from the heart of the Poppy making my brain a dream collage.

My heart becomes heavy.  I know this can’t last.  I weep as you shake your head smiling and capture my tears in a tiny cobalt blue bottle.  You say you will use them to season your stuffed zucchini blossoms and feed them back to me to negate my sorrow.

Rose, you are a love alchemist.

Heal me.

Yours,
Lilly

By Marion Lawless:  9/25/2012
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1 comment:

Kelly said...

I love this! You've been on my mind lately, Marion. Blessings to you and I hope you're feeling better these days.