The Dead by Susan Mitchell

"It was as if pain were a room he had entered & the door had been locked behind him."  ~ Stephen Dobyns, from "Eating Naked:  Stories"

Be here now...

My precious, badass Sophie, in Cat Heaven, waiting...

The Dead

At night the dead come down to the river to drink.
They unburden themselves of their fears,
their worries for us. They take out the old photographs.
They pat the lines in our hands and tell our futures,
which are cracked and yellow.
Some dead find their way to our houses.
They go up to the attics.
They read the letters they sent us, insatiable
for signs of their love.
They tell each other stories.
They make so much noise
they wake us
as they did when we were children and they stayed up
drinking all night in the kitchen.

—Susan Mitchell

~×~×~×~×~

My knee replacement is better.  Almost 3 long months of grueling physical therapy has slowly helped, along with a cute physical therapist.  (I ain't dead yet).  This cold is wreaking havoc on my entire skeleton, though, and I went and hauled plants into the laundry room this morning, just in case it gets really cold, in the 30's.  It was in the 80's earlier this week.   So, I'm sitting here with ice on my knee, bitching.  Go figure... ;-)

Happy weekend, y'all!  xo