The Child's Dream
By Susan Ludvigson
If I could start my life again,
I'd keep the notebook
I promised myself at nine--
a record of all the injustice
done by adults: that accusing tone
when they speak, the embarrassments
before relatives, like the time
I had to put on my swimsuit in the car
while Mother chatted with an uncle
who peered in, teasing.
And wouldn't they be sorry
later, when they read it,
after I'd been run over by a truck
their faces darkening
like winter afternoons.
And I, of course (if I survived),
would have a reminder,
in my own hand,
so I'd be the perfect parent,
my children radiant as the northern lights.
It's like poems you hope
will be read by someone who knows
they're for him, and cry
at what he did or didn't do,
wishing to touch your face once more,
to cradle your body.
You can almost hear what he'd tell you
with his voice that sounds
like the sea rolling in
over and over, like a song.
--------
It's barely after 11 and I have already very much had One Of Those Days. Had to get up very early to take my son to a pre-camp orthodontist appointment, but that didn't work out because they didn't get him back till after nine, one of his brackets had come loose as well as the fraying wire, everything had to be glued back in, he can only have soup and stuff today so he's home from camp bored and I can't even deal with the explosion of Trek news. Moreover I had to wake up writing an obituary, which is never a fun way to start the day, and this one was for composer Jerry Goldsmith which makes me sad. Since said son is home and unable to eat, I can't meet
I did stop in Borders and buy him Tucker's Countryside, the sequel to The Cricket In Times Square, as consolation -- I wish he wanted me to read to him because I haven't read that in forever and it would be fun, but he wants to read himself (GameCube he wants to play with me, god help me). My house is an utter disaster area, and I have come to the conclusion that I must personally clean any area that I want to be able to walk through, including all my husband's shit in the basement and on the dining room table (well, not to be able to walk through but to wade through) and both kids' rooms -- won't they be surprised when they all come home one day and discover that I have given away all their shit to charity as I keep threatening. Anyone know of any charitable organizations that will help pack it up as well as drive it off? (Don't tell me the Salvation Army if they do; I won't give them anything but a note telling them where they can shove their anti-Semitic, homophobic attitudes.)
As you can tell, I am in a perfectly lovely mood. *g* I did have a very nice lunch yesterday with
Oh, and to get more disapprobation, a fic warning: I need to post a bit of Lucius/Severus backstory before I can work on the next bit of Snape/Lupin, because there is an item involved in both that makes no sense unless the history is there. Fortunately this bit is very nearly finished as-is, and largely gratuitous, but it ain't getting done today.
I might as well collect all the quiz spam of recent days and post it. From
From
you love mini movies because of the action. you're an outgoing, active person who likes all sorts of sports as well as partying & hanging out with your friends.
you love blinking and animated icons. if you're female then you're a girly girl. "diamonds are girls best friends" is one of your favourite sayings and shopping is your all-time favourite hobby.
p.s.: if you wanna use this icon you have to credit me in your keywords
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