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Snapshots.

Published August 12, 2012 by April Fox

Tonight, I feel like my bones have all come apart, not at the joints, not jagged breaks with sharp edges sticking out to catch on clothing and upholstery, numb until the pain sets in, but like each molecule is separated, swimming through blood thickened like molasses, and reaching up to move my hair or stepping toward the kitchen feels like more than I handle on my own.

I read Emily Dickinson tonight, just for a minute. I dislike Emily Dickinson, but she has her moments.

My eyes are weak and burning from the light of the computer screen, searing typeface onto lenses scarred with stress and apprehension, and I woke a thousand times last night, more than usual.

Today was beautiful and I spent the morning weaving, with the babies, through piles of other people’s treasures, stopped to talk with a friend under the tent that shades her piles of records, books and clothes I covet but can’t have. In a parking lot, later, an older man slowed down to watch us laugh, my love and I, and hold each other like we did when we were new. I wonder if they think that we just met; I wonder if they know we’ve been forever.

My little one makes a turkey face, and I laugh until my stomach feels like it might explode. I took photos, but I can’t share them here. There are others, though, little bits of magic held for a fraction of a second by technology, so I don’t ever have to let them go.

 

 

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