Letter to Dad from New Danville, PA
| Julia Kasdorf When I can no longer stand to read or write in any chair or couch in the house, I bank the fire and head out into the night, slither between electric fence lines and climb a ridge where you can see lights from to the black Susquehanna. I lie down there under Orion’s belt until snow melts through my hair to the back of my neck. This is the best thing you ever taught me: to stop and stretch out under tree limbs or clouds. I almost forgot how good a pasture feels beneath a sore back. And these evil days when you can’t say who will sign your check or for how long, as friends of thirty years get canned or quit or just turn silent, you must walk out onto that smooth swath of Westinghouse lawn and lie down. Think how the sky will open above you. Think how the ground will hold you as it always has, as it certainly will until it takes you once and for all. (Witness) ~~~~~ Next: Bat Boy, Break a Leg |