An Assessment of Loss
The hill is out of the question, blistering heat, 109 – 110 degrees, so here I sit on the front porch in the almost dark, squinting down at a yellow pad.
In this heat I spend weekends pacing the house half naked, waving wet towels in the air, heavy blankets over the windows on the sun side, three fans going max speed, the phones off the hook, staring at my harmonicas not played in so long the reeds have begun to go stiff, photographs of grandchildren and great grandchildren lost to me face down under black ribbons, a time of mourning or maybe just deep regret, disappointment, failure, rejection and betrayal coming in from all sides like an emotional ambush.
Nothing holds together under the close scrutiny of time.
