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LAce Posted Monday, November 13th, 2006
Suzanne Aubin

I planted three new shrubs in the garden today. It’s my therapy, going to the Garden Shop and getting lost in all the colourful possibilities. I act as if I had a patio where friends will congregate this summer, as if there were a lovers’ bench under an arch of climbing roses where you and I would sit and watch the moon. I chose fragrant varieties of showy perennials, as if I had a future here. I sneaked outside with my plants, trying to get them in the ground before the neighbour comes home and starts asking me about my day. He trimmed the clematis on our dividing wall, which leaves me exposed to his view and sorely missing the striking purple blooms. I worked quickly before the rain and his return, climbing back into my hole, blinds closed, telephone mute.

The phone hardly ever rings any more. I come and go without rustling anyone’s feathers, without catching anyone’s attention. I file my nails and rub scented oil into my skin as if awaiting a lover’s touch. I pretend that someone will notice that my thighs are smooth and my hair soft. Aborted projects fill my evenings and I hold my breath till it is time for bed, the forgiving darkness licking my open wounds, the warm cocoon of blankets a dim reminder of your body shape, there, next to me, fencing out the vastness of the world.

Comments [post a comment]

Posted by Donna Levy [ ] on Monday, November 13th, 2006 at 4:45 PM
In your two expertly written paragraphs, I felt old pain as if it were fresh. Well done, indeed. Donna

Posted by Margot Miller on Monday, November 13th, 2006 at 5:44 PM
Painful memory, perfect expression. M

Posted by Bonnie ZoBell on Monday, November 13th, 2006 at 8:29 PM
Beautiful story, Suzanne. And it just keeps getting better and better leading up to that breath-taking ending.

Posted by Pamela Tyree Griffin [ ] on Saturday, November 18th, 2006 at 8:45 PM
I love this piece-it is beautiful in its simplicity. It says so very much-it is so very sad. Thanks for sharing. Pamela

Posted by shiloh of the hill people [ ] on Monday, November 20th, 2006 at 5:21 AM
Very nice, so close to regrowth. Planted, possibilities, will congregate, climbing; and tragically sad, as if, as if, as if… Telephones are so lonely, both implying distance and angst of watching and waiting. I especially like the line “I pretend that someone will notice that my thighs are smooth” -charged with eroticism, longing, and evaluations of self worth. The piece lends to me a feeling both of tragic make do/ stoic self pity and the empowering solace of solitary.

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