“Close my eyes just to look at you…”
I recall her sitting in the living room.
(That’s morbidly funny.)
Bathrobe and nightshirt.
Catheter and bag – filling slowly with blood and urine.
Chemo chíc.
Her best friend and I nearby.
She starts expounding on delicate subjects from days past.
I chuckle, saying:
Mom, should you be talking about this?
She stares back, Death swaying behind dilated pupils.
The glint in them is light reflected off its scythe.
She retorts:
“I’ve had a head full of secrets for more than 25 years.
I have so much dirt on so many people.
I don’t care; it’s coming out now.”
Most would recoil in horror.
But I smile.
I just smile.
Horrors, after all, are my stock and trade.
Ω
80-Proof Oinomancy 
April 20, 2013 at 3:26 pm
Goddam dude, I thought I was hardened beyond redemption, but your writing is making me think about things I never would before. Fuck you in a good way if you get what I mean. Bastard LOL.
April 21, 2013 at 2:20 am
Many thanks, Bill.
And I take that “fuck you” as a high compliment, actually.
“I thought I was hardened beyond redemption, but your writing is making me think about things I never would before.”
This and TempestTeacup’s comment on the prior post are two of the greatest things I believe, as an artist, could ever be said to me.
My sincerest thanks for it.