I owe you a eulogy. There wasn’t the chance to see you leave, to hold you while still full, or even empty – to bear witness to the bond between the two. The wind plays tricks on the mind: that banging shutter sounds like you letting the door slam. The leaves blowing off their limbs sound like you in the bathtub. In the morning I put a nail in the shutter and rake leaves. In the evening I take the nail out, let loose the leaves. Somewhere late in the night I will write the eulogy owed.
29 Wednesday Jan 2014
Yes, eulogy is a witness to a magnitude — the paradox of emptiness and fullness at once. Very quickly you elaborate the ground by which those two come together in grief and by doing so remit the task. Impressive stuff.