I look down at my daughter, who clutches my arm.
Sybil? I say, but she is transfixed.
In the near distance, we see the jib being furled. But the mainsail stays up. She turns patiently to shore.
My gosh, I marvel. They’re going to bring her in under sail.
I kneel down beside Sybil and say, Now, if it were me, I’d just motor in. But your daddy would approve of them sailing her to the dock. He’d be impressed.
We can see two figures now, two crew members. One is dropping the fenders. Another is at the helm. Sybil waves. The figure on deck waves back enthusiastically. It’s a young man with floppy hair in a red sweatshirt. He looks like a college student working for pot money. He shouts to someone below.
When the captain comes above, into the bright sun, I’m caught off guard. She’s got coppery hair in a buoyant mass of ringlets, and a large, brilliant smile. In jeans and a white polo, she’s leggy like a volleyball player, or some recent Olympic qualifier. She takes off her reflective sunglasses and waves them.
That’s Merle? I say.
Olin chuckles. Not what you expected?
I look down at Sybil. Her mouth has fallen open. She stares at the woman like she’s just seen God. A face of ecstatic recognition.
I want to talk to her, she declares.
Oh, Lord, I think. Here we go.
Dear Friend,
Time has passed, but I’m still thinking. Do you ever think in fragments that belong to the same whole, and while you can grasp each fragment, never the totality? You live your days, you try to get a better angle on the whole, but it never quite shows itself. Then one day, you realize that the act of trying to get a better angle on the whole is life; it is your perpetual motive, and you’d be lost if you succeeded?
Love,
Juliet
P.S. If not, you can ignore the following with a clean conscience.
Notes Toward a Whole
in other words, some things I cannot forget
by Juliet Partlow
FROM “MAN AND WIFE” (1963)
by Anne Sexton
that pair who came to the suburbs
by mistake,
forsaking Boston where they bumped
their small heads against a blind wall,
having worn out the fruit stalls in the North End,
the amethyst windows of Louisburg Square,
the seats on the Common
And the traffic that kept stamping
and stamping.
Now there is green rain for everyone
as common as eyewash.
Now they are together
like strangers in a two-seater outhouse,
eating and squatting together.
They have teeth and knees
but they do not speak.
A soldier is forced to stay with a soldier
because they share the same dirt
and the same blows.
Church Basement School Day #14
Stay-at-home mom. That’s a good word for it. It’s like a command: Stay at home, Mom!
Good thing we’re not called left-at-home moms.
I’d be happy to be left at home. I’m a leave-me-the-hell-alone-at-home mom.
They should redo the movie Home Alone. But instead of forgetting the kid, they should forget the mom.
Yeah! That’s a great idea. The dad and the kids arrive in Paris, and they’re like, “Why don’t we have any clothes or maps or books or plans or reservations or food or anything? Wait. Did we forget Mom?”
Hilarious!
What does any of it matter? The planet is dying. We are literally drowning in melted ice caps.
Are you serious? Is she serious?
That’s Juliet. She just moved here from Boston.