A bookkeeping man, tho one sure to knock on wood, and mostly light at loose ends—my friend who is superstitiously funny, & always sarcastic—save once, after I’d told him about Simone’s first time walking—a toddler, almost alone, she’d gripped her sweater, right hand clutched chest-high, reassured then, she held on to herself so, so took a few quick steps— oh, he said, you know what? Leonard Cohen, when he was 13, after his father’s out-of-the-blue heart attack, he slit one of the old man’s ties, & slipped a message into it, then buried it in his backyard— 73 now, he can’t recall what he wrote—(threadbare heartfelt prayer perhaps, or complaint)— his first writing anyway. The need to comfort ourselves is always strongest at the start, they say— do you think that’s true? my friend asked. I don’t, he said, I think the need gets stronger, he said, it just gets stronger. Copyright © 2015 by David Rivard. Used with permission of the author. |
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