I was sitting with my father, Matt*, in the ballroom of his and Marilyn’s Third Street home listening to some Argentine tango music years ago during “The Art Harvest Studio Tour of Yamhill County” when a young couple entered with their two adorable-and-not-so-adorable-children and when I asked the little girl how old she was she pirouetted across the ash-wood-flooring to me and beamingly announced “seven-and-a-half”, and then she asked me, “How old are YOU?” so I told her “sixty-and-a-half” and then we all just looked at each other and smiled and took turns guessing when it is most of us stop including ‘the-halves’ when telling one another our ages.
*Matthew Louis Worrix
(November 11, 1929 - May 10, 2016)
“She tears at the sound of applause, the salty liquid smudging the dark paint decorating her eyes. To watch this kinetic portrait of sass and blood and fire and gentle weeping is to wonder if an eggshell shaved translucent could be more fragile than her soul.”
Excerpt from La Loca : Literary Fame Is at Her Door and Valley Girl Pamala Karol Is Still Indredulous : Itabari Njeri, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer : Special thanks to Dr. William Kielhorn
… so after we wake and bathe and share our morning hike, we’ll take a convertible ride down Oracle to Historic Fourth Avenue to BOCA Tacos Y Tequila where they offer morning coffees and mimosas? and chavelas. The kind of place where your tummy growls in anticipation of what’s-to-come. We’ll place their vast variety of fresh, original salsas over our cauliflower and calabacitas tacos strategically, methodically : just as we often dribble icings over our pastries and cakes. We’ll have servers who always wanted to be servers, so everyone will be pleased and joyous! and we’ll leave a generous tip and say “muchas gracias!” like they’ve never heard it before …
It is important to get some envelopes so I can send him one with a thank you note and cash in it. The trees have become leafless and he’ll make tidy the yard with his magical use of the rake and the other tools leaned up out back of the house. It’s good to know things are in his care. And hers. She’s spent time there before, but never alone. I’ll make certain the envelope has enough postage because it is square in format and will have money placed inside which will make it weigh more so I’ll plaster the-upper-right-corner-and-top-edge with SAVE VANISHING SPECIES stamps. The included note will be fancifully-printed-by-hand and read, “Thank you so much!” And I will make a special little sketch on the outside of the envelope because I miss the way we always greet one another, in person, with smiles and our middle fingers extended.
Cherish The Day
She arrived in the clouds, a spot lighting her dark, Nigerian skin; her white dress simple, stunning. Golden necklaces, layered up, up : thick, that band of gold. Human jewelry approaching, she sat and sang in bare feet for two hours that memorable summer evening. All those years ago; inside another-fully-detailed-dream.
Not all entrances double as exits.
Words scramble from six tongues streaming; tangling. Dense, compressed as an incessant pounding throbs inside head and chest : closed-eyes-strobing-flickering-brilliant-bright-red.
I’d reopened a door never closed.
Clarity glimpsed through unwept tears; manic, longing for rest. This horrific hush! Aware of our-pulse-searching as the portals shift : writhing, twisting.
Finally slamming shut.
At The Door’s Knob
“I wish you all the aloneness you hunger for.”
“And the night smells like snow. Walking home for a moment you almost believe you could start again. And an intense love rushes to your heart, and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.”
“We are created by being destroyed.”
“The long silences need to be loved, perhaps more than the words which arrive to describe them in time.”
“I basked in you; I loved you, helplessly, with a boundless tongue-tied love. And death doesn’t prevent me from loving you. Besides, in my opinion you aren’t dead. (I know dead people, and you are not dead.)
“There is only one heart in my body, have mercy on me.”
“When I’m in certain moods, a conversation will start up in my head, and suddenly I’ll realize that the language has reached a very high and interesting level, and then lines and stanzas will just kind of appear, full-blown.”
“I’ve always envied people who compose music or paint, because they don’t have to be bothered with the sort of crude mess that language normally is, in everyday life and in the way we use it.”
“I believe one day the distance between myself and God will / disappear.”
“The humiliation I go through when I think of my past … ”
Quotes by Franz Wright (March 18, 1953 - May 14, 2015). Wright was born in Vienna, Austria. He graduated from Oberlin College in 1977. An American poet, he and his father James Wright are the only parent/child pair to have won the Pulitzer Prize in the same category.
As It Rains
For BD, With Gratitude And All My Love
I’ve no idea
what or how
I might have been
had I not known you
as I did and as much
as I loved your
being who it was
you were to me,
I came to realize,
in the end,
that I would
have traded it all
for you to have been
other than what
it was you