the softer edge of memory
1. three years past
inside my father's brain
a new chemistry exists
that feeds upon the old chemistry
for a long time they coexist
until the old one is smothered
my sister and I are visiting my parents
mom just out of the hospital
dad has become half-child
but the remnants of his former self
sparkle as tiny jewels
he shuffles into the bedroom
to tuck us in
like wide-eyed papooses
at four in the morning
accustomed to eastern standard time
I am washing dishes
he wanders in looking for something sweet
we sit together eating apple pie
and talk about the things he now remembers
his older sister who died at fifteen
she was the talented one, he says
"I would scoot against her
as she practiced piano
to get closer to the music.
I really wanted to play an instrument
but my parents said I was too stupid"
a remarkable revelation
now that his disease has robbed
him of stoicism
my father always seemed distant to me
my mother knew a different man
"Who is rosemary I ask him
"Awww this beautiful girl I stole away"
I tuck them into bed
my heart breaks to see them
fragile and trusting as children
and all along a sense that
I am helplessly talking about myself
unable to pluck my losses from
the great horizon I cannot see
II. three years later
I am feeding my mother
I am so tired, she says
"I cannot open my eyes
I always fed you balanced..."
"Yes, Mom, now its my turn to make you eat"
she smiles, then frowns
I call the nurse for morphine
on the sixth day in the afternoon
the heartbeat monitor drops
becomes a sound that demands attention
becomes a single note
the blood color sinks away...
and she no longer sleeps
eventually we go through the ritual
where one combs
through one's parent's life
every drawer, every cupboard, every box
every envelope, every word
we are tender criminals
taking the evidence of their life together
into our marrow
I open an envelope
a slip of yellowed paper falls out
"My beloved Rosita,
I haven't had a chance to write you.
I will soon, and send you my love.
Angel"
the note is dated
in their 30th year of marriage
because of our mothers illness and death
it is two weeks since we have visited our father
my sister and I decide not to tell him
afraid of how anguish would play itself
in his diminished psyche
his face is without expression
We call his name
but he does not respond
a cold knot gathers at my core
a flutter of panic doffs the air
is the old chemistry at last defeated?
"Do you want some candy"
he stares at nothing
I take out the lollypop
that has so far linked us to him
I pry his fist open enough
for him to hold the stick
and raise his reluctant arm stiff from disuse
"Open your mouth," I say
but he does not
I touch the candy to his lips
"Abre la boca["1]--he tastes the sweet
"Mmmmm!"
the same approving mmmm
we have known since childhood
my sister and I laugh with relief
we sit outside under umbrellas
my father loves the sun as much as
the mesa spirits where he was born
I must be contented
with the fragments
and the earliest memories
where the greatest truths lie
before I leave I embrace him
with one arm he fiercely holds me
kisses me on the neck
your father remains your father
regardless of any outcome
they say daughters marry their fathers
but I only remember my father
teaching me how to change
spark plugs and a tire
perhaps the deepest lesson
is the example of one's life
my father dresses the photograph
where men love passionately
I go into the world and marry one
and though I only realize this
when I am on the plane flying home
it has nothing to do with luck
in the days of the nonchalant treasure
of ordinary tasks
I see my hands and find my mother
or my father's wit bounces from me
I am a piece of their faceted lives
can we be purified by love?
imperfect matter that we are