Thursday, July 2, 2009

Today A Day Like Any Other




It's been a long day, the timing of things is wrong, clicking when I'm snapping, moving when I'm daydreaming, forcing when I am gliding. I smooth my hand against the hot metal of the side car door on the way home from work, the roar of cars to left and right, my hair is long and wavy and moving in ribbons behind me. The children are spread around town, doing things without me, without their father. They are older than they used to be. I slide off my sandal and push my foot hard on the gas pedal, feel the warm rubber. The sun is moving downward. A truckload of men in their 20's pulls up and the brown face, wide laugh of a man turns to me and he cups his hands around his mouth. I cannot hear what he tells me. I just know he has told me something. He turns back to his friends and their truck is going 60 and I am going 45. I am 34 years old, and they are brown skinned young men in their 20's. The sky is clean like blue bone. The trees are many and soft California green. The tree heads bump against the sky. Sunlight moves over my arms and my face and my hand is burnt against the car door metal. I feel the blonde down on my skin pulse with joy. I am going home to my husband and there is his face and his hands and his eyes and our history and our future. There is a center to the madness. There is this heat and this sunlight and the young men and their wide brown smiles and there is my husband to give it to. Today at work I was pushing children in the large stroller. I was by myself as you are when you are with very small children. I was looking at little I and his fat curvy arm sticking out the side, small fist curled into a caterpillar. Just hanging there. And suddenly I saw the ultrasound of my and Mr. Curry's baby, our unnamed but very real baby, and his little fists, all curled up under his chin. And I was out in the open, and the sun was soft, and the wind, and there was no traffic, and it was like a great breath was being held so sweetly by the world, waiting for me to understand. ' Your baby actually existed. He was here. He was alive. He was a real human being created with the man you love. ' And there was this new level of understanding what I had lost. I drove with one hand in the sun and burnt against the car door. I drove and thought of my children in their 3 different places with their 3 different beautiful bodies, moving and groaning and laughing and complaining and living. I pulled the car to home and pulled my body as closely as possible to Mr. Curry's. And there was this new level of understanding what I have.
Elizabeth said...

This says so much -- you have made some sort of startling discovery but you've discovered it for us, your readers, too. Thank you for that.

Vashti said...

you just took my breath away!

the watercats said...

beautiful.....

chelle said...

egads. I am so sorry for your loss. I experienced a miscarriage at 12 weeks and nothing, nothing is like that pain.

Big hugs.

Sharon said...

Thank you for this:)

starrlife said...

Wonderful. So many lucky people in this one!Beautifully written.

Vodka Mom said...

amazing.

Ms. Moon said...

Yes. We are kindred spirits.

krista said...

i feel we never have enough until we have lost too much. i'm not sure why that is and whoever made up that rule needs to be kicked in the eardrum.

Valentine said...

beautiful. sometimes i tend to go through each day so quickly that i forget to take a bit of time and observe the world before me. there's such wonder and plenty of lessons to be learned in the smallest of moments.. thanks for reminding me, miss!

xx

V

Just.Kate said...

Thank you.

Greenfingers said...

The way you describe both love and relationships within the centre of your universe is so very interesting and moving Maggie.

copiaverborum said...

New reader soon to be frequent reader. I love how you write and I appreciate your visceral approach to life and circumstances.

~carpeviam

Laoch of Chicago said...

This is very well expressed.

Miss Grace said...

You're lovely.

Erin said...

Maggie May, you have such a beautiful mind. Such a beautiful heart.

Lola said...

I come here for my beautiful dose of reality, and once again, I found it. Thanks, love!

Shaista said...

Maggie, I was in a taxi heading uptown, the return home, writing a letter to you in my head. You write and the power of your language occupies me. You make poetry on your own terms, raw and unfettered. And lines, stray lines return to challenge me, inspire me, engage me. I wrote a poem called 'Ma' inspired by your Dakota post - the other side of the story...
Thankyou for being my poet/blood transfusion pal these past few months.
May the dark stone angels of Cambridge bless you...

Not So Glamorous Housewife said...

It has been five years since our daughter was full term stillborn. I had a miscarriage last month. I thought I was o.k. but then the nightmares returned and it all begins again. We float through this darkness looking for light and I refuse to grieve again. Do we have a choice? My thoughts are with you. It gets not necessarily better, but different in time.

Lacey said...

I absolutely adore you. I wish I wouldn't get so behind with reading your posts, but at the same time it's awesome because I get like 15 full minutes of Maggie May time. :-)

Jennifer said...

Very powerful stuff. You caught the flow of life and thought (if one can do that) beautifully.

jodi said...

realization is a wonderful thing. re. your comment on my homebirth post. terrible - so terrible, i know.

Lydia said...

. . . small fist curled into a caterpillar. That's the opening scene of the movie my mind sees as your writing moves us along in your life.

Badass Geek said...

Yes. Good.

Jenn said...

Your passionate embrace of life makes me smile. It is so nice to hear you are noticing the subtle beauty that exists all around you and channeling it into your personal relationships. This is so wonderful!

Jessica said...

you are nothing short of amazing.

a mouthy irish woman? ridiculous! said...

you give me a new understanding.

Woman in a Window said...

i breathe it out from my belly,
yes.

Sandy said...

Thanks for your comment at Between Lightning.

Love this post. Your writing is so beautiful and descriptive!

Just Jules said...

I can not tell you how much the post below this one makes me giggle!

Something Happened Somewhere Turning said...

The rhythm of your writing is so beautiful. Your expression of the here and now is remarkable. You capture love, sensuality, the pangs of love and grief in wonderful dancing sentences.
:-)

Jeanne said...

I love the sensory impressions in this -- and, even more, I love that you seem to be moving toward a place of peace with your loss.

Dave King said...

Very moving, I was held completely by the terrific writing and by wanting to know.

Laura said...

I am so glad you were able to take a turning point Maggie... it will never go away.. but it will become less painful and easier to carry with you.

clarewbrown said...

beautifully written, mysterious, sad, poignant, expressive and engaging! Gorgeous.
wishing you a wonderful new week,
Cheers,
Clare

Not The Rockefellers said...

welcome home darling...

Karencilla said...

Hi! just passing by to say thank you for your nice comment about my blog!
i am checking out yours and it is inspiring.

Hope to see you around my blog soon.

princessgoodidea said...

My God, this is beautifully written. I love: "I was by myself as you are when you are with very small children." I know! I know! The imagery was delish. So nice to meet you today.

Lissa said...

so beutiful! I'm gald you found me.

yolanda said...

got your postcard!!!!!!
i took it with me to the museum. a talisman---
and i will be reading you forever.
i loved too, bookish yet horny. hehe.
ME TOO!
oh
i know i know
but
LETTER SOON!
besos my dearling

Annie K said...

Hi Maggie, Beautifully written. You have a way of writing that brings the reader with you, into your mind, heart, body, and emotions. ~ Annie

the real mia said...

This is sOoo beautiful—the photo and the image. Thank you for this.

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