Beginnings
OK - just a short one - my fingers are itching to type, though I can only do it for a few minutes at a time before it starts to hurt.
I live in a condo. My windows are open. I can hear a young child sobbing and trying to talk. I can hear a mom yelling at the child. She keeps yelling. The child keeps trying to understand. I know I will be seeing that child later in my work, or at least someone just like him or her. The child will be troubled and angry. I will drop a tiny bead of salve, but it won't be enough.
I live in a condo. My windows are open. I can hear a young child sobbing and trying to talk. I can hear a mom yelling at the child. She keeps yelling. The child keeps trying to understand. I know I will be seeing that child later in my work, or at least someone just like him or her. The child will be troubled and angry. I will drop a tiny bead of salve, but it won't be enough.
posted by Vicky | 10:11 AM
6 Comments:
Vicky, I am so glad that you did this writing, despite the pain. Your injury has had intriguing consequences for your writing. This is, of necessity, short. So you were forced to say as much as you could in a short space. The result is stunning. This reads like a beautiful prose poem. I love it.
Thank you for coming back! I hear the child crying. I hear the other sounds coming through your open window. Sounds of life, and mystery. I eagerly await the next entry!
Very powerful! Thanks for sharing this observation. Like Beth, I feel as though I'm there experiencing this with you.
I hope your wrist begins to feel better soon!
Keep healing! And these little bits are just fine--just great, in fact. You've said an awful lot in a little bit of space.
(Thanks SO much for your recent comment in my blog, which I was surprised and delighted to see!)
Well done -- the healing, the renewed energy, and the writing.
beautifully felt.
V
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