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Memory Cards: Clark Coolidge Series, by Susan M. Schultz

Memory Cards: Clark Coolidge Series, by Susan M. Schultz
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I am not to speak for one year.  I wonder if I should call.  She has taken my vow of silence, cannot hold the phone or say more than hello.  To enter another’s sainthood, attend to complexity’s unraveling into perfection.  My crystal text is not transparent; she is my parent.  Apparent vehicle, I & she.  In the dugout the losing team falls apart: my son weeps, another woman’s son hangs head to chest.  I sign her checks; I must be part she.  I have lost her voice as she has lost my name.  My son, in red & white, stands at the plate in the sun and blinks, bat quivering over his right shoulder.  At this moment I cannot say I love him.  Egrets sail over us in drafts.  A baby cries.  Coach yells, what are you DOING, holding that ball?  One to another writes, I’m missing you, but the second is gone, except to Facebook.

 

 

–18 April 2011

 

 

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