taken by my older son on 050921
“Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things? – from Rainer Maria Rilke, “Heartbeat.”
It’s the last thing I hear before everything goes blank.
I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’m conscious again; yet it’s more like a waking dream where I’m blind and floating.
Where Kübler-Ross* suggests that loved ones left behind go through five distinct stages of grief, I feel the first four oscillating through my consciousness for what seems like forever — until their sharp edges are smooth rocks rolling a mountain river.
A disembodied voice speaks to me:
“Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things?”
I hear a song and open my eyes. I weep that I still have “eyes.” And “ears.” Warm breeze tickles my bark. A child at my feet plants one of my small brown, capped heirs and laughs.
I’m safe, in mother’s embrace.
*A theory developed by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross suggests that we go through five distinct stages of grief after the loss of a loved one: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. – from verywellmind
My older son and I went walking yesterday in an abandoned golf course that is a collaborative project of The Blandford Nature Center in Grand Rapids, MI, and the Land Conservancy of West Michigan, where they are working to get it back to its natural state. Like a fool I left the fresh camera batteries at home and forgot to carry my phone, but I did have my son snap a pic of a beautiful tree, standing so majestically in a clearing, which is the top image you see. I saw at least one bluebird and one of the biggest birch trees ever, but there was a woman resting on it and he refused to take a pic of it with her on it. I will be going back there and will take lots of pics, I promise.
Sanaa (aka adashofsunny) is today’s host for dVerse’ Prosery. Sanaa says:
Write a piece of flash fiction or other prose up of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line from the poem.