Looking out the window she sees the sunlight, hears the birds. She had thought the warm weather was just a tease, that winter wasn't over. But here is spring, suddenly, going along as if it has always been. Maybe it really was here all along. Winter must have been inside of her.
The sunlight sparks a thought that she can't quite grasp. Something about hiding and finding. About need and denying and imprisoning. She doesn't stand a chance of following it, to figure out if it has something to do with her mother or her dead dog or her life that feels like a dream.
Her bagel is sticking up in the toaster. It sprang up with a pop that never fails to startle her. She spreads mounds of cream cheese, dismissing thoughts of trans fats and triglycerides. She needs all the fat she can get if she wants her body to be able to hold onto her soul. A frame of bones is much too weak, too small.
-from Something About Hiding and Finding
2 comments:
Quite the writer you've become. Wonderful.
You must finish it for me, and when I read it I will cry and demand to know why you wrote something so sad. Love the title.
Actually, it never went anywhere. It was the begining of an idea that turned into something entirely different--the woman who beleive's she has her dead sister's soul, which has also become pretty stagnant. All I seem to be able to churn out are lovely quotes...
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