For Shimon

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And the winters are so many

and the winters are not so many

and everything feels so close to me

the Caspian Sea

the skeleton dress

the man with turban pastel

everything feels so close to me

and somebody’s on the moon as well .

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And I hear your name

and I hear my name

over the loudspeaker

with a million others

white sleeping tents so many

the dreams singing , all yelling to dispel

the unexpected questions

bewilderment to foretell.

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And it’s written over the land

and it’s written on a neon sign

and the fish make rainbows

and bodies scatter Jerusalem

dead , dead and soft like brown mangoes ripe

and children shoot machine guns killing the gazelle

and the winters are so many .

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And into the Hall of Extinction

and into the Ship of Imagination

and into frozen lakes of Titan to dwell

where my mother is dead

and everything feels so close to me

all the fields so soft and green

and God , God a trilobite with three eyes

watching the ground swell .

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And who was I

and who were you

and no one wants to give it up

and everything feels so close to me

and the winters , the winters , they are so many .

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Credits :

Inspired by ShimonZ at thehumanpicture.wordpress.com

Outlook – Sara Wickenheiser Photography

Snow – Dale De Vries Photography

Running – Aela Labbe Photographies

The Book of 1000 Beginnings : Sylvies Paragraph

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Her name should have been Francie ( my mamas name ) . I made a huge mistake and gave my only daughter the wrong name . I don’t want my memory to fail me now , not now , not when my middle sister Juliet is so terribly broken with grief , afraid of everything that could be . Death always scared her , words like ” heaven ” do too . There are three of us , three daughters first and then my brothers . My mother knew how I expected her to one day live with me . She understood the culture of South America especially after seeing the movie , ” Like Water for Chocolate ” and becoming aware of the Spanish tradition dictating the youngest daughter care for her mother in old age . Her favorite scene was when the youngest sisters heat and passion transfers to her older sister , who overcome with lust , takes a shower outside only to be carried off naked by a revolutionary soldier on horseback . My older sisters were tough competition and we fought for how long she would stay with each of us and just how many movies she could watch . But I’m the smart one ( buying her a one way ticket so she would stay longer ) yes , me the so called smart sister despite the fact that I took ayahuasca in the deep forest with the shaman along a strange river in Columbia where Gabriel Garcia Marquez lived ( my mamas favorite writer ) . I told her that story again and again , embellishing it more and more whenever she asked , which was often . I earned a masters degree in neuroscience , with a career in the research department of a university  and my mama always delighted that by looking at me , one would never know these puzzling facts . So how did I make that mistake with my daughters name ? I forgot the visions in forgetting the romance of my mothers life . I forgot that her brain heard whispers from her soul and that the imprint of her cell was the same as mine . ” Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again , though lovers be lost love shall not , and death shall have no dominion   ” ( Dylan Thomas ). I won’t forget again , not now , not with the black eyes of my daughter looking at me with my mothers emotion , eyes , the artifacts of her grandmothers mystery .

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For my youngest daughter

The Angel Olivia

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The father is watching , peeking through the narrow door slat in the old Citadel Building of Benton Harbor . The walls seem like paper , the light thin , the patina dusty … yet with golden sheens they pirouette after the last poem of winter passes . Olivia dances , the Dance of Spring , the others watching as she creates her own gravity .image image image

For you dear one , Olivia … and your daddy xxx

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Music by my fellow blogging friend ,Ewian Christensen ,  a talented young artist muscician