Sunday, July 17, 2005
The Dogs of Babel
a novel by Carolyn Parkhurst
"I remember my wife in white. I remember her walking toward me on our wedding day, a bouquet of red flowers in her hand.
And I remember her running away from me in anger, her body stiff as a stone. I remember the sound of her breath as she slept, I remember the way her body felt in my arms. I remember, always I remember, that she brought solace to my life as well as grief. That for every dark moment we shared between us, there was a moment of such brightness I almost could not bear to look at it head-on. I try to remember the woman she was and not the woman I have built out of spare parts to comfort me in my mourning. And I find, more and more, as the days go by and the balm of my forgiveness washes over the cracked and patched surface of my heart, I find that remembering her as she was is a gift I can give us both."
"I remember my wife in white. I remember her walking toward me on our wedding day, a bouquet of red flowers in her hand.
And I remember her running away from me in anger, her body stiff as a stone. I remember the sound of her breath as she slept, I remember the way her body felt in my arms. I remember, always I remember, that she brought solace to my life as well as grief. That for every dark moment we shared between us, there was a moment of such brightness I almost could not bear to look at it head-on. I try to remember the woman she was and not the woman I have built out of spare parts to comfort me in my mourning. And I find, more and more, as the days go by and the balm of my forgiveness washes over the cracked and patched surface of my heart, I find that remembering her as she was is a gift I can give us both."
# posted by F X @ 2:36 PM 
