i often wonder when my son will read a book on his own and when he will desire to spell his notes himself? and i wonder if he'll pronounce it "spill" and adopt our hometowns accent. will he defy my covert NY accent? will he co-opt david's midwestern drawl, that is peppered with hick influences. pen becomes pin. laura / lara (lah-rah).
i kind of want him to have a central texas drawl. i've totally embraced this town as mine own. i am very amorous of austin and texas proud. sam having an accent would be icing on the cake. but i think spell becoming spill isn't indigenous to this area and i am romanticizing having a southern accent. with spill could come offensive iterations.
projection, my spill, should not flow and when it does it needs quick action, to be soaked up.
--anonymous mama
flow my tears, a trip up and a fall down, there's a hole in the bottom of the sea/there's a hole in my heart where my father used to be/there is an endless well of sorrow, of spew, of bliss somewhere under there. i wish i had the cosmic vision to know for sure, to be able to read the future, to know the outcome. i can only trust.
ReplyDeletespill, an accident. the deprivation of life. a soul spills out of a body. joy spills over the sides of the cup, the smile, my son's utter release as we race around the house in circles, tapping hands and yelling "high five!"
spill, i feel ill. every day a hurricane. every day a new storm. there is a part of my mind i have carefully locked behind a closed door, spill. i can't bear it. i can't be that naked when i need to be wearing something.
spill, this sucks. like oil sucking oxygen out of water, like fish's lips sucking nothing, sliding and gliding into the depths. here i go, into the depths myself. i rest on the deep ocean floor in the cool dark, alone. eyes closed and hair floating. alive but unmoving. waiting.
the beaches of our childhood gone, the birds and the life we knew forever changed, love like water pouring love like greed dying spell it, tell it, share it
spill it