By Sarah Christie Prospero The lyrics open in a haunting minor key, and Carly Simon sings. My father sits at night with no lights on, his cigarette glows in the dark. The living room is still; I walk by, no remark. I tiptoe past the master bedroom, where my mother reads her magazines. I hear her call sweet dreams, but I forgot how to dream
Wonderful piece, Sarah. It brings us back to when, as growing children, we began to study our parents with a growing curiosity as to who exactly they were. And how as adults we might have gone from our earlier judgements to a greater understanding and even forgiveness.
Always wonderfully written with a message of purpose. I think a lot of people can relate- about their parents and themselves. Are the memories better than the reality?
Beautiful piece Sarah. I recall a similar separateness between my parents as I grew up and questioning their relationship occasionally. They weathered their storms. Your piece was certainly evocative . Thanks.
Thank you for this! It brought up a memory of MY dad, sitting at our kitchen table, reading. Mostly reading history … WWI and WWI, the Civil War, Ancient Egypt and Stonehenge! I see him at the old, green kitchen table, that probably went the way of all old furniture at least 60 years ago. Thank you again for that memory!
Wow! Books and words used as a distraction from having to share words and a bed. I love how, as a child, you reflect on wanting to understand those books - a metaphor for understanding your parents and longing for their happiness. Beautifully written and very moving.
Wonderful piece, Sarah. It brings us back to when, as growing children, we began to study our parents with a growing curiosity as to who exactly they were. And how as adults we might have gone from our earlier judgements to a greater understanding and even forgiveness.
How lovely.
It’s an enchanting mix of how our parents fit. Thank you for in-depth perception.
Always wonderfully written with a message of purpose. I think a lot of people can relate- about their parents and themselves. Are the memories better than the reality?
Beautiful piece Sarah. I recall a similar separateness between my parents as I grew up and questioning their relationship occasionally. They weathered their storms. Your piece was certainly evocative . Thanks.
Thank you for this! It brought up a memory of MY dad, sitting at our kitchen table, reading. Mostly reading history … WWI and WWI, the Civil War, Ancient Egypt and Stonehenge! I see him at the old, green kitchen table, that probably went the way of all old furniture at least 60 years ago. Thank you again for that memory!
Haunting. You tell such a big story with so few words, Sarah. A scattering of images tells us everything.
Wow! Books and words used as a distraction from having to share words and a bed. I love how, as a child, you reflect on wanting to understand those books - a metaphor for understanding your parents and longing for their happiness. Beautifully written and very moving.
Reading between the lines - gorgeous.
Beautifully written. Thank you.
Sarah, I felt I was in your house. Lovely piece.
Beautifully written. Your words reminded me of my own curiosity about my parents’ secret life… and whether they were happy.
Beautifully composed and so relatable. I love this piece.