When you comb his hair he shrinks into himself, like a captured bird subdued. Not imprisoned, simply absorbed completely by the pleasure of the comb's teeth sweeping across his head. It's as if finally he has what he wants and doesn't need to shout or call or speak or threaten anymore.
"I've been coughing alot," he had said earlier.
"I know," I had said. "You were sounding pretty bad."
"It's gotten worse," he said and looked at me in that pointed way I interpret as a demand for reaction. "Do you think I'm dying?"
"No, you don't at all seem like someone who is dying," I said truthfully though hidden way down deep, far far away is the tiny question that peeps out when it has an excuse to: will this be the thing that takes him away?
"You don't think this kind of cough is some kind of imminent sign?"
"No, I've never heard of that."
I've brought the latest New Yorker outside with us because you claim to have read everything in your room. I choose the second poem offered that week because it's shorter. Fred reads it out loud. I listen and, rather than getting lost in a bunch of theoretical verbalisms as I always fear will happen when taking on a New Yorker poem, I can see a man, this poet, contemplating big subjects like Time and Truth, but with his feet on the ground, looking up at the sky, holding his wife's hand, finding a place even for religion if only because it can supply the resonant sound of church bells.
As Fred reads, I see him smile when he comes to the mention of a bear. Maybe the rest of the poem was just bewildering verbal clutter, but a bear appearing is like the North Star. If there's an animal anywhere, mentioned or visible, Fred takes comfort. Always.
That first paragraph is so sensuous, only a lover could sense the experience in her love. Another deeply moving piece with Fred. We feel his vulnerability, his innocence "do you think I'm dying." While the narrator reassures, in that deep place she wonders. So beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. The bear, and all that surrounds it. Pulling into himself for the pleasure of the comb. Even religion if only for the resonance of its church bells.
ReplyDeleteSome people talk too much, some people write too much, some people do both. This thoughtful and well-written piece has me wondering just where I fit in.
ReplyDeleteThe above comment was meant for Heidi’s piece. Marta’s contribution for today was poignant and touching and rich in feeling.
DeleteAm resonating with what Heidi said....a sensuous beginning with so much history and love...the reassurance and the hidden doubt..the appearance of the bear and the love for animals that is always life affirming.
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