nookncranny's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- compiling bits i must have been about ten. i may have been sitting in the chiropractor's waiting room. i spent a lot of time there as a kid. my mom had a sort of chiropractor habit. anyway, i flipped a page in the magazine lying on my sun-tinted legs. (i had already finished all the comics in the mad magazines.) first the image struck me. it was a rough hewn sculpture. figurative. some kind of skinny, crooked fife player. and then there was the poem. no credit was given under it. i may have twisted a word or two in my memory; but it read something like: a wandering minstrel i; a thing of shreds & snatches, of ponderings and & patches, and dreamy lullaby. i wasn't the thieving kind at ten-ish years old; but i knew i couldn't live without that page. it wasn't a time in life in which i would form an interpretation; but somehow i knew it had a lot do do with me. my essence, my gestures, my fragrance, my heart, my whole. ripped it out. kept it for years. somewhere along the line it was lost. it's pasted and collaged right into my skin now, i believe. and it's good, dearly good to be here. where i understand it & her so much more completely. - ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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