Sunday, May 18, 2008

death and falling angels (for Kristin)

Boys take a lift with the wrong person, girls slip on railway tracks, girls go missing from facebook pages, dogs sleep, oceans part us. Everytime I drive the Westgate she's tumbling off against a perfect sky until the water smacks her to a halt.
Oceans engulf us, rivers trace our faces, anguish bursts from our skins. Holding grief is like driving a car in the night. Not feeling the wind, not smelling the bitumen, not talking to anyone, not listening, not touching or being touched, not recognising the scenery. Remembering is like watching a video without the sound. Incomplete and unfinished.
I'm driving, inured to the world. Every song on the radio has a line for me. " the scenery flying past and I'm standing still?"
Grief never changes, it is always fresh and startling in its anguish, as if we don't know it, haven't met it a hundred times before. It is the most (in)human of emotions, coming from so deep within that it changes everything, yet nothing is changed. That which we loved is gone and the sky remains blue, the scenery rushes by while I'm standing still.

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