Silence stings my eardrums. Handsome gray lady is playing her flute and swaying. Touching the music with her fingers in the air. I'm haunted and I'm far away, no longer in a barn in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strangers. We're a bird, you see? We flit the drums and caress the shakers.
She moves. She's very far away, inside her head. She's wrinkled, and far from beautiful. But she strokes the music with her awkward body and suddenly she is beautiful. I shrink into my chair. When my eyes are closed I'm dancing in my head. Barefoot and backwards and with sugar chocolaty mouth and itchy legs.
Then home with the scratch bad radio on. Mouth still sweet and jumping dancing on the couch with the little sisters I've never had but always longed for. One of them looks like a skinny girl I miss.
Because she's the closest thing I've ever had to a little sister. And that was only because I loved her brother with every soft prickle in my heart. I miss him terribly but I'm afraid he's too far gone to have back. But as I sit here in this cabin far from everything else I realize I do not need him or anyone else to be myself. Becoming holy human. I'm aspiring for self beauty.
I miss. I miss that little girl more than my flesh and blood and I find that curious. Maybe because she is beautiful and free and the product of two artists. Some of which I am and much of which I'm not. Maybe because I wish she were my sister so I could be the love daughter of the beautiful artist who bares her belly. But then he would not have existed and I would only be half of what I am now.
But what I was not.
But here's the moment and a gray haired lady with a flute of Peru.