Today I cried in the bathroom

The Blushing Brides

I am moving the diary blog: http://susancorcoran.tumblr.com/

Links don't work here anymore. (See post below.) I can not create my own line length -- for poems etc. Everything runs together. Videos and music can't be posted, although sound clips could never be posted. I'm not sure what happened with the other bits. I was going to use Tumblr for finished pieces but I have to move for the diary blog. Hope it's not a hassle. Thanks.

Slush

It's the first day of Spring. I hope things are more Spring-like in New York. I'll be very close to the place where I was born next week: Rhinebeck. I keep imagining going somewhere else for Fiona's high school years. But I was picturing India more than Rhinebeck. She wants to return to her homeland of California for high school. Could I live in Los Angeles again? What about my parents? And Charlie? And Maine? What about the traffic in L.A.? And what about the million dollar houses and property taxes? What if Watershed would be a fine school? What if the sunshine and warm weather would be great for Fiona? What if she wilts and wanes in the Northeast like Josh used to? What if she wants to work in that world out there, like her dad?

Blue

Blue/ the blind boy runs through high corn/ hands outstretched/ salt water holiday in July/ dunes roll down his back, broken/ eyes salty, ocean waves filling, retreating/ eating the corn/ listen/ while we watch the sparks in the sky.

neti neti

He drowned the baby squirrels in a bucket out behind the shed. French songs on the radio. He got whacked in the head. A Tibetan monk living in his chest and eyes. The Sanskrit songs of the Bhagavad Gita ring all night long, keeping him company, making him remember home . Blue and green waters, black silky seal dives through the icy harbor tucked into a pocket of the Atlantic. His home, for now.

Sunday

Charlie is building a bench. Crimea is voting to secede. Who knows where that airplane is? Django somehow got a tick in his nose. My mother is roasting a chicken and baking potatoes for my dad. Everyone in town, minus about five of us, are at the mountain enjoying the wind and the very last day of the t-bar. The wind is roaring. The dogs are sleeping in sunny spots on the floor. Yesterday Charlie and I each got haircuts. We watched Nebraska with Norm in the evening, after they ate lasagna which I made. Brownies too. I was thanking Norm for saving me from what I was seeing as imminent disaster in my cellar on Friday. It was a very nice, peaceful evening -- even if the boys got a little carried away with talk of Central Asia. Where is that plane?