10:57am Sunday morning.
I was supposed to speak to my brother today but he was a no show. I wrote him a poem a week or so ago which I sent and he acknowledged receipt. I miss him.
I’ve been drawing most of the morning. Playing with my winter scenes. Attempting a handful of peanuts. I joked to myself that I shouldn’t eat my models, but I do. I miss laughter.
My daughter called me. We spoke of many things. What her grandmother would appreciate as a gift when she visits this week. How to draw to proportion. I miss her.
I tried drawing a man using a grid to get him right per my daughters advice. Sometimes it takes a bit of grunt work to get the details right before creativity can flourish. I’ve not had the energy to put in the work lately (yet I do). I miss feeling alive.
My mom is in pain. Injured to her soul by the loss of her lover. She writes to me in the middle of her night and I feel it in my bones. I miss you, mom.
I drew my own hands yesterday. Left holding a mug of a spilling iced coffee. Right holding a pen drawing that spill. I impressed myself. I wanted to show my son. I sent him a message but no response. I miss his embrace.
My wife is in the other room. She is worried about the growing tensions between our birth nations. She’s decided not to put in the tatami area in our house (a dream of mine) as she’s not sure we’ll be able to stay to enjoy it. She is here. Yet, I miss her.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about when I opened up my pad. I didn’t know I would be doing an inventory of a lonely man. I’m not surprised. I know I’m lonely. But I didn’t intend for it. I miss feeling whole.
I miss these and many more. But what a precious life I have to miss these wonderful things. What a nice turn here at the end. To feel grateful. It was unplanned I promise you. I didn’t feel it moments ago. But I thought how should I end this poem and it came naturally. The pattern tells me I should say I miss something now, but I guess I’ll miss this last one (or perhaps not).
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- Partially FiguredBe well, Monty
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- HorizonBe well, Monty
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- WeaveBe well, Monty
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- An Old SketchAn Old Sketch What’s this?A tree yet to be.Or, If roasted,A fragrant snack. Be well, Monty
The feeling of being distanced can be difficult on both ends. I hope your daughter’s visit is a good one and that you get the hug you need… I’m grateful that you ended this on a positive note. There is always hope!
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My daughter will be visiting her grandmother…so no physical hugs for me, but it was nice to have the chat with her today.
Oh wow, I’m sorry you are feeling all of this! I hope it gets better Monty
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Just writing it down makes it better. Thank you.
The reader misses you too. And is grateful to read this lovely lyric
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Sometimes I’ll pass a house with a rocker on the front porch and be suddenly homesick, even though I didn’t grow up with a house with a front porch, much less a rocker. Missing I-don’t-know-what. I think as humans we all have an essential loneliness too.
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Oh, the house with a rocker has always been my idealized vision of “home” and if two rockers “love”. Thanks for sharing!