A Small Victory

myanhedonia.jpg

This is my Anhedonia. But it is first a photograph of an antique wax mannequin by Detroit artist, Barbara Abel. Please visit her website: http://www.abelphotography.com.

Anhedonia is also the one who has been my friend and companion when I don’t have another. She hangs on the wall in my living room, her eyes following me. Often she will fly from the wall on which she clings most days with the might and muster and biology of a bat’s clawed wings, spend a few significant moments in the oxygen and then be betrayed by gravity. She is fragile and I am fragile. We know what not to say or do to one another. But we also know what needs to be said to one another … and always remind one another to always be brave. Brave like a lobster squealing in the pot of steam … screaming in the face of bitter decay.

My small victory was writing a poem about my passed on Aunt Shirley. She was an artist, a painter, and lived in a log cabin in the woods with a large St. Bernard named Sandy. She was the only one I would allow to cut my bangs when I was little. I think I trusted her because she was an artist and therefore seemed more real to me than everybody else. Last night I dreamed about her … she was yelling for me from the loft area of her cabin, asking me to come up. There was paint splattered all over her and I kept thinking it was blood not paint and so said I couldn’t come up there. That she was contagious and I was already afraid I got what she had the day she was cutting my bangs and also cut her finger and blood dripped onto my forehead … that is probably when the wiring was shot. This was a dream but I believe a lot of it in some inexplicable way. There was some sort of comforting communication in this … like it was her trying to tell me not to worry anymore, especially about other people. That I could just be … I plan to try.

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Published in: on May 13, 2007 at 8:35 pm  Leave a Comment  

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