Monday, October 24, 2011

What next?

My sister keeps insisting that I write. Write about how I feel write about what is going on, just write.

It has been hard to do so though. I haven't felt like sitting down. I can't make myself sit down and do something at a stretch.

But on NPR I heard Terri Gross's interview with Marie Howe and she read a poem she wrote after her brother passed away, that poem was so simple, so real. It captured something important... I want to share it here-

by Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. 
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. 

This is the everyday we spoke of. It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off. 

For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking, I've been thinking: This is what the living do. 

And yesterday, hurrying along those wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve, I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: 

This is it. Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning. What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it. 

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless: I am living. I remember you. 


Anonymous said...

Purvi - I agree with your sister. Writing is like something that will help. You can talk to anyone - God, Amaey, unknown people, to yourself.. It is kind of like crying. It does not have to be a public blog - you can write in your diary, or create a private blog for your closest friends and family.

Mona Shah said...

Purvi this is the most beautiful poem so poingnant, so real and with so much feeling. Thank you for sharing.

Anonymous said...

Purvi - Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem, and for continuing to write. Your words help the rest of us "living" people, too. - JoAnne V.

steph said...

Purvi, I read this poem someplace just a few weeks ago. I thought about sending it to you, then I was not sure if would be interesting or comforting and I choose not to send it. I guess my first thought was right. The poem stuck with me for several days, I often caught myself thinking " this is what the living do"