TOMORROWS BITE OFF YESTERDAY

61 of #100day challenge

Oh, it is late again. I must needs hit the hay soon and set my alarm again as tomorrow is a yoga teaching day. Janet generally won't get up until I do because she doesn't like to make her own coffee. 

It is so hard sometimes to realize that the mother I knew is never coming back. No more long conversations. No more shopping. Not much laughing. No more trying to feed me things or even to please me at all. Inasmuch as I have/had plenty of resentments, I miss her. Maybe if I were a different person, a more patient person, a more focussed person, I could still get some of those things out of her, but I generally don't. Just the caregiving and the day-to-day take all the "extra" out of me. I could sit with her in the living room and watch The Big Bang Theory, Everyone Loves Raymond, The Golden Girls, Family Feud, and Shark Tank but I am not, regrettably, that person.

Fox is insisting on being in my face. My face needs to be in the pillows.

 BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

The stripped almond of the plane is gone,

veering against an anchored moon.

Cloud waste spews out over the red

tiles of Belgium. You beat a tympanum

of cloud; I drum deserted cobblestones.

Now into your moving star I toss

my calendar, the shadow of a house,

and normal days. We meet as two gulls

might, in a cinema of sky, the green sea

under, the green eye of the sea scanning

the alternate shores of night.

The starry field is ours to trace.

Between the hour and the zero hour,

tideless as in an aquarium,

the virginal water clocks unwind,

the luminous frescoes smile and sway,

and in that lambent medium

tomorrows bite off yesterday.

— Rosemary Thomas, The New Yorker, October 29, 1954 issue