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The morning by Abigail George 2017-12-03 12:42:11 |
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The morning (for Johannesburg, the love of my life)
I give you a large cup (always a large cup) of tears to drink. A cup as large as the River Euphrates. Your bloodless face, swaying hips inspire. I half-existed (then) in my depression to love you (then). I’ve captured your light in my hands, this rut of the twisted essence of touch, of smile, of grief, of childhood motivation, abandonment issues, of contribution to the revolution-house. I remember how it felt to hold you. I remember how it felt to be in your arms. I felt dainty and sweet and loved. It’s never left me even after all these years. I think of your warm hands on my body And, how this still excites me. Pavements are enchanting and wet. Surfaces with their concrete minds slick. I don’t tell myself anymore that I need love like a magnet. Once I loved men, powerful men and I wanted to stay there forever. Once I fell in love with women and wanted to stay
there forever, (women were powerful too in my life) and discovered in my short life that there’s really no difference between a powerful man and a powerful woman. One day I won’t be able to write anymore. Dad, elderly, can’t write anymore. Shuffles when he walks. One day I’ll shuffle when I walk. When I think of you, I think of the things that I love now. Swimming laps in the local swimming pool. My cloud-heavy nephew who I would give my life for. I know what love is now. I can even forgive my mother when she becomes irate. Vitriolic. Belligerent. Sad. I think of the days of the love that I had for you. I think of the city that I found myself in (in my twenties). You took away my sadness. I think of my youth. Then my early twenties. Reading novels like Couples and Disgrace. Reading Gillian Slovo. Watching films like The English Patient and Lolita. Think to myself of going from therapist to therapist in my twenties. Think to myself, thank God, I am more comfortable in my skin than I’ve ever been nearing forty. I think I know something about the science of love now. Emotionally I’m much more mature. Surer of myself. Life, well, is no longer about stepping aside for ego. I’ll never love again. I know this and I’ve made my peace with that. I think of you and I know I’ll never love again. Think of when I was in your arms and how I wanted to stay there forever.
*********************************************************************** Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves, "All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren" Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!

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