Hello, My Little Girl
Hello, My Little Girl
I am still here,
but you are gone.
This is one of the
one of the great
*Tupperware tidies up the leftovers. Plunk it in, snap it shut.
*I wish I could click along the broad, city sidewalk, tucked in, wearing white gloves and holding a clutch; but this is reality, not a reel to reel movie that clicks in its evocative way, allowing for splicing, allowing for starting and stopping. No. There are incessant responsibilities and the weight of decisions and comportment.
*In which case, to switch to a baseball metaphor, maybe I can get a pinch hitter on my bad days, someone who can take the heat off of me, who can actually live my life for me in the hard moments. Or at the very least a highly involved base coach?
*In a pinch, I may clutch you. Physically. It’s just a thing I sometimes do.
*For example, during the suspenseful or shocking parts of scary movies, I often grab my companion’s leg.
*Companions don’t always like that.
*But I do always like matching tupperware–
*with it, I don’t have to clutch my scraps of food in my bare hands all night long.
*Instead, I can go to bed, sending up gratitude for well designed bowls with fitted lids, and falling into the deep sleep I need.
Let us not think about loss.
Bowls are wedding gifts because they
hold the potato chips and
fruit of the future
like we hold each other,
and when we do, I feel your
life force through your shirt,
and I know you’re only human
but I’m grateful we collided
like the pinball game we played
the first time we met,
which I recall winning,
but maybe it was just seeing you
that lit me up.
When our daughters,
ages 5 and almost 8,
rest their weight on their elbows and
lean their chins into their cupped palms,
their cheeks fill up their hands,
spilling out between their fingers.
I can still scoop up these big girls from underneath,
cradling the backs of their knees
and their arm pits in my forearms,
and holding the whole of them to me.
I hold one of them and I sway back and forth,
rotating from the waist, saying to my husband,
“Remember when she was just a tiny baby?”
I do this because it feels good
and because I’m physically able to do it.
I do it because it’s a way
of reminding us that we’re all ok.