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Array
(
[sid] => 7392
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => visiting aunt margarete
[time] => 2002-11-24 22:00:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Walking up stairways winding past portraits staring into the future.
On the landing is a long, low table with a white vase dry and longing for daisies to brighten the mahogany mood. Embroidered curtains hang like cobwebs over tall arched windows at the top of the stairs. Lacy shadows on the white painted walls. A Persian runner softens our footsteps, leads down the long hallway with flowers and vines and red woven borders. The door is dark wood carved on the edges with a crystal cut doorknob that painted rainbows across the tall ceiling when the light was just right. Inside the air smelled like moldy linens as a head on a pillow peeks past the covers and beckons me in. Laughing as she hugs me, and fumbles with a bottle. These I take to keep doctor happy. Maybe later we can go outside and she points out the window at her tall rope swing that I love. Her eyes grew wide, and her smile broad as she began asking questions. A hundred questions. How tall are you now? Do you like school? Have you made lots of friends? But before I finish answering she falls asleep. My mother took my hand and led me away as the nurse and doctor talked in low voices. Can’t we stay longer? She said we could swing. No said my mother, we must buy you a dark suit. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 164 [topic] => 31 [informant] => darkeyedman [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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