Page 212 - Dark Matter Women Witnessing
P. 212
Seeing you, suddenly, on the rug in the alcove. Shock. Until I realize it is two books I left
sitting on the floor in the exact spot you used to occupy. A pale sweater left draped
across your chair produces another start. Just so you continue to take shape before me,
beside me. What shape is that shifting over there?
I know this stance from having hunted for you so many times: ears attuned, eyes
trained, all senses straining to make out the desired one. Spotting you—la voilà!—the
shock to the heart: you were so often scarce, so often when I called you didn't show.
That rustling in the leaves, the tiny piping sound you made as you ran, oh come to me
please come all I ask is for you to come come home my prodigal daughter/ lover/
beloved.
Last night I dreamt of you, I was holding you, you were in my hands, and one hand was
stroking you, all over, your head your back your sides your tail. Such unexpected
fulfillment to hold you that way. To hold you, in my hands, in your entirety, as I did when
you died, holding you on my knees feeling—in my hands and my legs, as I could never
do for any human—the life go out of you. Completely.
Grace. Gracie. My Gracie girl, my sweetest most beautiful girl, these words I've never
used with any woman, or any child. "My girl" "my sweetest girl" I called you knowing you
would never be mine, knowing I could hold you, I could pick you up and shake you
about, I could rough you up the way I often did, I could gather you completely in my
hands, and hold you to my chest and yet—ownership was out of the question with you,
always. You would never be à moi. Maybe that's why I felt so free with my possessives.
You would always be mon errante, straying from me even as you stayed at my side. At
the same time you were mine, you were of me, in me, part of me as my legs are mine or
my fingers.
My Gracie girl, mon amour, ma cocotte, I loved you without reservation, without fear.
Without holding back. I was never afraid to run out of love with you.
