A Broken Vessel

Your writing is elliptical, said Susan, my new sister.

Well, if so, then my music is too.

For today, the music she played was another Beethoven symphony—the 7th.

Nor does the “she” in the sentence above refer to Susan.

So, after the walk this morning, I reread the last posts of this blog, and it confirmed it.

What?

“Soy escritor”. I am a writer.

I said it first to the cab driver who explained my mother’s death, in physiological terms. Why don’t you feel hunger or thirst after the first three days of fasting?

And why hadn’t I asked myself that before?

Well, the explanation, to those interested, has something to do with bears and hibernation. Bears stock up and fatten themselves, and then use it all up during their hibernation. 

We do part of the process too—we have a natural trigger to eat and drink. But Franny trod the path of bears. Not fat to begin with, she began to lose her natural trigger to food and drink quite soon. And entered?

Mystery.

And why was I taking a cab?

I was hungry to see my old boss, who had mothered me for so many years.

Oh, and also to see the dentist, to see what could be done about a writer’s mouth.

I had fixed one thing, you see….

A broken vessel.