Daisey’s father <br />leaped into a D train <br />when she was 28 <br />now at 34 <br />still pain <br />perhaps <br />she shouldn’t <br />have thrown him that night <br />drunk <br />when he said he’d <br />never touch a drop <br />disgusted <br />Daisey <br />felt <br />good <br />about no longer <br />sponsoring his illness <br />and here we were <br />in Greenpoint <br />his boyhood <br />all around us <br />and she loving me <br />because <br />“I knew life.” <br />Standing before <br />his childhood building <br />spending his first <br />14 years inside <br />she said, <br />“Father’s are funny <br />when does it end? ” <br />“Never, ” I said solemnly. <br />Startled by the directness <br />and force of my response <br />she kissed my lips <br />wet <br />from tears now flowing. <br />“We are born into <br />the windowless room of <br />our parent’s psyche <br />and we come to accept <br />the reality of what is real <br />for them <br />but which is not Reality <br />and when we get older <br />we see the walls of their house <br />contain their windows but not ours <br />their windows are our walls <br />and if we possess courage <br />and insight <br />we transform their windows <br />into ours...” <br />Daisey asked, <br />“What are you talking about? ” <br />“Transformation...but there’s resistance— <br />guilt <br />awkwardness <br />horror <br />shame <br />the residue of their lives <br />halts us <br />still we must persist until <br />vast clear glass <br />and even that <br />disappears— <br />the Universe twirling <br />and we <br />not separate <br />just steadfast <br />whirling.<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/caught-in-the-whirlwind-of-memory/
