Closer

Luc is at the door, ready to leave but Richard hasn’t finished talking yet. I stand there listening, wondering how to say goodbye. How do you say goodbye to someone you might never see again?

***

We had wandered around a while before finding him. At the entrance, I had coated my hands with that anti-bacterial gel they like you to use and I was nervously regretting my compliance. What a stink. I didn’t want to bring that clinical smell into his room. Eventually our search takes us upstairs where  there are smells enough to make you gag and forget any other one.

A long term care facility. It has a good reputation. Mostly for the elderly. We see one white head after the other, buried in pillows, asleep. Impossible to say whether they are men or women. Sometimes  a photo is pinned by the door. Then you know. A smiling face…with a name. 

Finally, we go back downstairs and ask a nurse where to find him. She smiles.

Oh, Richard? Il est dans la chambre de dépannage. 

She directs us: first floor, room # 101. The words resound in my brain: chambre de dépannage… it sounds so temporary. Maybe it is temporary - just until he gets stronger, strong enough to go home?

I am standing in my uncertainty at the foot of his bed. Richard is holding out his hand. I step closer and give him mine. He has a twinkle in his eye.

Closer, he says. I take another step.

Closer.

Then he tenderly and gallantly kisses the back of my hand.

There, he says.

I’ll see you soon, I say. I’ll come back.

As we drive away, I can still feel the touch of his kiss. I bring my hand to my face and my nostrils are greeted by the rich scent of sandalwood with subtle hints of other exotic fragrances. I breathe it all in and turn to  tell Luc: My hand smells like Richard!

                                                         * * * *

Link to the CBC interview with Richard Sommer:

http://www.cbc.ca/cinqasix/books/2012/03/02/richard-sommers-cancer-songs/

Richard Sommer’s Cancer Songs

Remember This

Once I found you in the cupboard- turquoise, upside down in a glass. You looked at me with embarrassed eyes…yeah, I know it was stupid but could you get me out? Please!

You had the run of the place. The others had nasty names for you: attack bird, pyscho-bird. They could never touch you. You chose me. I never imagined a bird could be so affectionate, so trusting. I could put you in my mouth if I wanted (I didn’t). You would take baths in my cupped hands under running water. It is true you bit me once in a while but I always forgave you. I think you were testing me.

Right now you are in the other room.  The house is too quiet. That dreaded  final moment.  The shock of finding you inert, stiff-legged on the floor of the cage. My memory seered with an ugly image of death and suffering.

But it was not like that at all.  You have somehow managed one last offering…an image of peace.  

You are so lovely…wings slightly spread as though to glide into a soft landing, and then to rest your head…

Remember this. I loved you. I was funny and I was beautiful.

A Kind Of Wonder

We were in Taïga’s apartment in East Vancouver.  I was alone for a brief moment, sitting at their kitchen table. I remember I was wearing a gorgeous blue green dress- new, a gift. I felt awkward in it. More than anything, I wanted to feel beautiful and expansive but I felt crimped and self-conscious.

I  slid my elbows over the table and nestled my head in my hands.  I was looking at a tiny delicate wire sculpture of a tree. A gift, I remember, maybe for an anniversary. Hanging from a branch, attached to a thin white string was a scrap of paper with a note. I can’t remember the exact wording now - this was many years ago- but I remember the words ‘I am honoured’ … that it spoke of  intimacy and fragile accord…that it was a kind of wonder. 

Bird of a Feather

You step into the empty city. Buildings of stone, brick and wood surround you, rising into a dark moonless sky. Silence resonates. There is only the thud of your heart, your  breath quick and soft. You scan the windows and doorways…nothing, no one.

But where is everyone? How can this be? An entire city, deserted!

In the darkness someone calls your name. The voice is melodious and familiar. Every cell in your body realigns to receive this call. You hear your name again and a magnificent eagle-sized bird emerges from a high window and launches himself into the air. He swoops towards you, wings wide. His body brilliant green, turning to orange then fiery red. His eyes burn like two stars.

Swwwoosh!

A single feather wafts down into your open palm.

You stand in the silent street holding a feather. One slow soft breath…

and then you awake.

Mirth

A warm flickering light glows from the red-bricked open foyer. I rush into the room.

I am late. Sleep came came late; morning too early.  I attend to the proceedings with eyes half open. The teacher is launching into her discourse, we are in a circle, a small informal gathering. Her assistant, a young woman, sits cross-legged on the floor, her back to the fire.

Pop!  A spark flies and a tiny flame alights on the young woman’s back. Unconcerned, she bats it away as she would an annoying mosquito and continues taking notes. Meanwhile the fire has taken - flames elegantly curl up towards her hair. No one seems to notice.

You’re on fire!! I yell.  

Still no one reacts. Her eyes are frantic but she doesn’t move. Desperate measures. I dive to the floor and take her in my arms thinking to smother the flames with my own body…erase fire with my bare hands. Somehow it works. I extract the last stray ember with my fingertips and throw it into the fireplace.

She seems relieved. The room has gone quiet, each person lost in their own thoughts. I walk back to my seat. But why does everyone have such a strange expression on their face? I look down and realize in the morning’s haste and sleepiness I’m only half-dressed, naked under  a long sleeved shirt with only the top buttoned.

I am engulfed by a wave of embarrassment and shame rising from my gut - I have never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. I want to disappear.

And that’s when it dawns on me…Hey! I am dreaming. Wow, I’m having one of those  classic naked in public dreams!  Caught red-handed!

This sparks a giggle. Laughter rises till I am shaking all over. Bubbling over with mirth. 

A Sudden Raucous Chorus

I got caught in the drag of melancholia so I took myself for a walk.

The sun was going down but I had a few minutes. I let the forest swallow me, stepped nimbly across swampy ground without wetting my feet (yes!)- grass mound to grass mound; crawled through the scratchy pine then up the gentle ridge overlooking the pond. No mallards today. I settled against the bouquet of birch under a dimming sky. All quiet. But not a settled quiet, more like an alert pause….

 Chiirrp! 

Answer from the other side of the pond: Chiirrp!

Then - a sudden raucous chorus. The spring peepers!

All around- an increasing cacophany of rustles and whispers…movement. I waited a moment. Even the trees seemed animated with new purpose and urgency.  

Soon, too soon, the last rays of sun were gone -time to go.

I picked myself up and thought about beauty…so easy to overlook in its subtlety - overwhelming but not dramatic. So simple and ordinary, then extraordinary - like breathing as each sense livens…becomes alive. 

Dream Protocol

Each time I turn my head  a new ‘tableau’ materializes. People materialize before my eyes in groupings of five, three, seven. I scan from right to left, pause while they appear. Edges blur…I try to focus. They are frozen into interesting poses - still and silent. Not much colour. It occurs to me that I ought to interact with them, speak. Maybe they would respond, tell me…a message of some kind.

To my left is a woman, sitting alone.  Her forearms rest on a small wooden table, left hand elegant over right wrist.  Her right ear presses into her shoulder, her gaze is low. Like the others, she is perfectly still. I go beside her, lean down until her face is inches from mine, my eyes to her eyes.

Hi!

She recoils slightly as though shocked. Oops. People begin to unravel, loose integrity, disappear.  I must have broken dream protocol…I was vulgar, way too loud and cheerful. Completely inappropriate.

I wonder what she might have said…

I Wish You…

You did this

I did that

Didn’t do

Would not

Chose not

Both right

Both wrong

Cement

I want to blast through

Penetrate

Spit acid

Burn your eyes

Look, look

What you do

To me

To us

Anger

Behind anger

Sorrow

Then regret…

All night

Words

Eat my sleep

Burning

Wanting to burn

Burn you

Never forget

Then

At first light

A faint song

A tiny space

Over and over

I sang it

To me

To you

And the space

Grew

Love…

Its so easy 

To forget

We are free

************

I wish you…

Wish you well

I wish you

Luck

Wish you

Love

I wish you

Health and 

Happiness

I wish you…

Roses for Richard

Winter Bouquet 26 x 14 inches 2012 (oil, probably still wet)

Luc and I peek in the door. Richard is sitting up, reading a book of poetry.

I am not reading really, he admits as he lowers the book.

I am meditating on the concept of a book.  Words. Symbolic markings. Gathered on these pages. I can hold them in my hands but I can’t decypher them, can’t take them in anymore. 

He asks me what I have been doing and I talk about a bouquet of roses my partner had given me in December, about the light going through them. That though they are long gone I am still painting them, going in close, exploring…sometimes loosing the rose altogether. Colour and light, movement, abstraction.

He’s interested. Did you bring some? I want to see.

 I didn’t think of that. It never occurred to me. I have brought my guitar, but he doesn’t want music…it reminds him he can no longer play his flute.

Over there, in the drawer, close to me, just in case, he says.

Luc opens the drawer. We see his two beautifully crafted wooden flutes and pause to admire and remember… honour the possibility.

One Day…

Marie and Me 2011 (oil on canvas) 42 x 60 in.

One day we say lets go for a walk in the mountains. Yellow sun, blue sky, autumn colour. Our kids run in an ocean of grasses. We run after them. Marie tackles Florent, they roll…disappear. We hear them laughing.