Page Fifty-four

Thursday 11 February 2010, Turners Falls

Another anniversary. Exactly 11 years ago, on Thursday 11 February 1999, my father died. I’m in Turners today, as always, to wander through my memories. To haunt the streets and waters of Turners as the phantom that I have become since my own life was taken from me. There’s no greater emptiness that I can think of than to have everything that you defined as your life stolen, not by an earthquake or a flood (that’s bad enough), but by the viciousness and ill will of other people.

Drifting around for my father’s anniversary. Drifting for nano-seconds when I can both feel and see myself and my animals in these places. Hearing in memory the nasty words, and many lies of the three women who were the major players in depriving me of what was my life. Seeing in memory both the warm smiles that were canny and totally fake, and the iron-hard looks full of ugliness. Women. My sisters. Or so we were brainwashed in the sixties and seventies, the heydey of the women’s movement. Not my sisters in any sense of the word at all, these snakes. Not my sisters at all.

~~~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 (e.balivet tapestry a



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