January 6th, 2015


Spiegel im Spiegel, Arvo Part, 1978

It rushed in on me suddenly, while I was texting her goodnight,
that we had prayed once before in her bedroom.

She is 15 and I am 30 and when I go home to visit I sleep on a
mattress on her floor. There is no spare bedroom.

When they announced their divorce she was only 7 and I
22.  I had been warned by them separately.

When she heard, she ran from the kitchen and locked herself
in her room and cried, privately, as she always did.

I knocked on the door. It took some coaxing, but she let me
in. Her face was white and wet and angry. It's not right

she kept saying. It's wrong. Tell them it's wrong. I looked
down at her, as if from a long way off. What could I say?

It is wrong Sarah, I don't think it's what is supposed to happen. 
It's not the ending we want, but it is the ending. 

She, calm now, shook her head and said No. God does
not want our family to break. I had no words then.

We sat together, the oldest and youngest, sobbing and
praying that something would change.

Many things changed, though not the things we had
prayed for. He moved out, we moved on, slowly, awkwardly.

When he died she seemed not to cry until she read one of his
favorite verses at the memorial service, and then she shook.

The other night we prayed in whispers for our mother
until we fell asleep. The sky breathed gently over us.