Wednesday, December 01, 2010
The radio played by the old, lone lamp.
Her eyes were closed. The song moved. Images wove with a mind of their own.
She liked to be surprised by the music. Much more alive than if she chose records to play. She liked the conversations in between. The commercials. The contests and jokes. She liked having company in the small world of lamplight.
The next song danced her to the boy with dark eyes.
Her heart filled, and she missed him.
The next baked summer sun into her skin and vacation daydreams. In another, it was the weeks after her father died.
Her son was born. A husband came and went. The years layered on many years.
The night began to weigh, but she would not turn off the radio to sleep.
She embraced a more fluid math, because in the silence, she was nothing but the sum of the things she could no longer be.
(Photo taken at the Philadelphia Museum of Art)