Planting trees out of the grief
In Memoriam to Robert Creeley
After my mother told me about her father's death, years passed quickly in my feelings. Images, sounds, landscapes, voices, conversations...I put aside the phone receiver and heard my mother talking, dull. Close was Rob. Closer then ever. I didn't cry. I just wanted to see how it feels not to cry when you really need to and when your eyes are about to sear. So I was wandering through my soul-desert. From there to here and elsewhere, emptiness followed me and I asked myself who could fill it. But what with? And: who?