I Always Go A Little Mad, This Time Of Year. Remembering Her.

When I look at this picture of her, I weep. She was an amazing beauty.

She’s gone. The one who birthed me. The one who nurtured me. The one who hurt me. The one who healed me. The one who heals me.

She is gone: The one who hurt. The one who knew a pain beyond what I’ve ever known and the One who still stood.

The one who

Stood in the kitchen on that warm October night and

sent me down to the basement to see if the clothes were done when she knew they weren’t and still she was the one whose flimsy reason made me stop and say NO

The one who emptied the nuggets of ending into the hands that connected to the wrists that bore the scars of slices past: healed over skin that did not mask the pain of an unhealed heart.

The one whose right arm was laced with crossties of unimaginable terror from the one who with her made her children: catching up to her and slamming down upon her the end. The end.

Sad eyes, she wore. Sad eyes, she swore. Sad eyes, she earned. Sad eyes: She learned.

There is only you.
i tried to find a pic of her in which you can see me

I Always Go A Little Mad This Time Of Year, Remembering Her.

Elizabeth Nann.


I Always Go A Little Mad This Time Of Year, Remembering Her.

Here we were, on Montauk Point.

Braver than me by multiples of 10.

Mom. Ma. Mommy; can I do it, then?

Can I be you and you be with me? Are you there, Ma? Are you with me, Mom? Are you here, Mommy?

I Always Go A Little Mad This Time Of Year, Remembering Her.

Elizabeth Nann Lynch. 1/19/40–10/11/99.

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