Images in the dark

a poetic prose essay about a sad event that happened long ago

My father died when I was seven.

Like a girl in a museum I'm drawn to his pictures�"those inadequate reproductions hypnotize me

What can pictures give? Coal-blue eyes, a knowing look. They exist, for me, like Cassandra of Troy, full of endless secrets that can never be told.

A snowy, ice slickened, twilight-blue rush hour parade�"hundreds of grimy cars rushing, rushing ... somewhere.

Why do the details I can't remember haunt me so?

A flash of light, the tearing of metal like the screaming of dogs in a reeling, devouring dance of energy.

The nuclear family detonating with death inches away.

Everyone was asking, "What do you remember?" "I don't know," 7 year old me said.

Sometimes, as I fall asleep, memories of him�"which I hold dear�"come to me like the ghosts of departed friends. Image after image in the embracing dark.

Why is it the further away you get, the more I need you?

Those images and that voice are strangely silent in the morning as I'm, once again, awakened to a world I'd rather reassemble.

Author's Note

all comments welcome

Reviews

[Unspoken poet]

such an emotional read here, nicely presented and well expressed