Log in

No account? Create an account
Red Lipstick & Green Ink [userpic]

I woke from a nightmare and knealt before my shelf of old journals....

May 29th, 2005 (08:10 pm)
current song: Milk And Honey

Looking for a day.

Was not even sure of the year.


I dug through '93.....for an hour, book after book.
Reading the scrawl of 22 and 23 year old ginger.

Then I found a reference to the pages I was looking for.
And reluctantly closed the book in my hand and reached
for the one marked along the spine as 3/24/92-5/11/92.

When I was 21.
Still wrote in cursive...and black ink.
The day I and my Father and Mother
visited Washington DC for the first time.

April 1, 1992

The European flavour thickens,
as we toddle into town---
three green tourists in D.C.

City life must ingrain
a level of continental awareness.
Like rats, under certain conditions we will
all fall into behavioral patterns.

Slate, jet striped skies.
The rumble jostle of the Metro...
the only real connection my mind
can make
is with Germany.

Fool's Day.
Green tree lined expanse
before 1600 Pennsylvania,
I'm watching people
the weight of a crazed
on their complacent

Equestrian officer
at an easy stride
I see faces
heavy with doubt,
faces far from home...
faces all too near.

Traffic of a world
going mad

held in the trembling
and ludicrous palm of


I finally sit
in the shadow of the washington monument
watching the reflections
of other passing tourists
in the black granite wall.

I am watching my father
walk along
looking for something

a name?
a reason?

I remember this page differently.
I remember that day.

I was sitting up on a golf-course green, hill....
watching my Father.
I had my walkman stuck in my ears...
and LONGEST PARADE from Blind Man's Zoo was playing.
10,000 Maniacs.

I was rewinding the tape and playing it over and over.

The WALL was surreally shiny.
He was walking calmly along it,
and Looking
and Looking.

He didn't touch it.

The memorial, I would learn years and years and years later
was designed by a young Vietnamese-American Woman.

It's design was challenged.
It was too simple.

It is not too simple.

It slices into the ground.
And reflects every person who walks along it.

I know NOTHING of war.
I am only a Soldier's Daughter.

I have lived a life of privilege and shelter.

When I was sitting there, I was very young.
More ready to be indignantly angry at my Country--
than ready to receive the moment I was given.
Than ready, to try and see....my Father
in the most human space I could possibly view him.

I wish I could sit there now, in that moment.
I would watch his face.
I would turn off the music in my ears.

I would still sit up on that hill...at a distance.
This moment, one of his most private.
Opened up under the jet striped sky.

My adoration of Mild Mannered Men...who can Fly?

Isn't hard to take apart.