Tuesday, July 5, 2016

#SOL16: Parataxis

from my art journal 6.28.16

Memories are a shabby substitute.
Memories carry no weight.
Memories are not a body.
Memories carry little definition.


Rob's illness was terminal.
Rob reached up.
Rob caught the back of my neck.
His hands were large, capable.
Live brilliantly.


Some night I recall the feel of his hand.

I long to feel the weight.


No weight.
No husband.
No hand.


Rob's diagnosed.
Life is a parataxis.
Nothing is subordinated, coordinated.

One day fades.
A next appears.
Rinse and repeat.


  1. Memories, shabby substitutes... your words gripped my heart. So true. I hear the rhythm of grief in your words, but I also hear the heartbeat of life. Beautiful words, haunting reality.

  2. Some night I recall the feel of his hand.
    I long to feel weight.

    I ache for this. It used to frighten me that I would never be able to feel his hand again, dance with him again.
    I know this poem in the depths of my being.
    Bonnie K.

  3. This is a soulful poem on loss, Mary Ann. I am listening because words cannot chime in to relieve the weight you bear.

    1. I appreciate you saying that Carol. Bearing witness--listening matters so. Thank you.

  4. I don't think I can find the right words.

  5. Mary Ann-your art and words compliment each other so well. I feel the loss you feel.

  6. Oh, your sorrow is captured in these words. "Memory is a shabby substitute," and "one day fades, the next appears, rinse and repeat."
    Your journey is a hard one.

  7. I think you are living brilliantly and Rob would be proud. By sharing your journey with us, you are helping many who also struggle with the agony of loss.


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