Friday, 10/8
slept not in the same corner or in the same bed,
but with the same indirect morning light
through the window, the same hill rising behind.
In the years when my uncles and aunts were children
here (some of them at least), the room slept two,
and the children (some of them at least) were conceived
there. I didn't think of this as I slept last night.
Nor did I think that my grandfather died
in that room—when he was 86 and I was 9—
as did his older brother, the fabled Uncle Joe,
back in the '40s. I slept with this history
without thinking about it. Instead I thought
about sitting on the bed and writing songs,
about wrestling on the floor with Danny,
about the first time I heard "Sweet Home, Alabama"
on the radio late one Sunday night,
about once sleeping with my wife in the same corner,
in the same bed where I slept growing up.
2 Comments:
I have always valued narrative, our story. Without a story, we simply don't know who or who's we are. I was recently reminded that place can be as important as narrative. This piece is a strong argument for BOTH! Thanks MAC!!
Thanks, Woody! I'm glad you like this piece, which I think could definitely be developed further. I'm also glad to see your handle back around these here parts. I've missed you!
I agree with you about place and narrative, and I'd be interested in hearing about the recent reminder you received about the importance of these.
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