ril's Diaryland Diary

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The Gnaw and Echo

The Gnaw and Echo of the Aircraft

I am in a bit of a funk this week. The first snowfall of the year has certainly contributed to the gloom, but there is much more to it than that. I�ve spent too much time in airports� saying hellos and goodbyes� a lot of goodbyes�

But what is it I miss the most? The place? No, not really. The person? Maybe some, but not enough to be responsible for the depth of the mood� I think I miss the sense of� of� well, let�s call it opportunity� the end of an idea� a hope, really�

Just because it was the right thing to do does not mean I had to (have to) like it�

I don�t have the gift at non-technical prose as many of the other journalists I�ve read�. or, for that matter, most of the people I�ve met. My talents (modest enough to begin with) lie elsewhere�.

Emotions, especially intense emotions, are often impossible for me to reduce to black and white. But occasionally, I come across the right words to describe _exactly_ how I feel� And, having found them, I want to share them with the D-Land community at large� my many, many thanks go to the woman responsible for them� her name is Melissa�

Gnaw and echo of the aircraft long in my ear
After your departure
The airport, sick ward

Wheelchairs empty in the corner
The doors whoosh to each side under the red exit sign

I am entering winter and know the tired ride home
The curves in the road, the pothole past the fat tin mailbox
Eight miles away

You are already gone

And I am what they call strong
I am what
They call competent

But nothing seems enough to stop the clinging to this body
You do so well in it definitive morning even not wanting kisses

What is it�the dream about the pearls
Recurring, bearing round gifts
Wrapped in strands
I do not remember how it unraveled

White, pure, falling
Uncontrollably falling
As if it were me
A child who might yank a necklace
From its mother�s breast

Taking what is already taken
As if it were me who could turn such a poison into stone

- 2002-01-09

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