Dangerous Compassions

त्वमेव माता च पिता त्वमेव ।

My aunt and uncle had a fire in their fireplace last night.  I couldn’t help but take the seat closest to the fire and watch it burn as we were social together.

My uncle asked me a lot of questions.  I liked his curiosity.  My aunt would put another log on, from time to time.

My uncle asked about my music stuff.  I played bassoon for years.  I told them about the punk rock orchestra I wanted to audition for a few years ago, so I rented a bassoon from a place in Berkeley, but then I learned I had been way better than I thought I had, and the little finger on my right hand is not very functional because of my pinched nerve, but I need that finger for a few notes.

My aunt told me my outgoing voicemail message is so pretty, she wanted to call me again and hope I didn’t pick up.  I told her a translation of that song, which is in Sanskrit.  She said she’d thought maybe it was Latin.  I liked her guess.

Not sure why all these corn husks were in the laundry room like this, but they looked pretty in the morning light.  I’m guessing they’re left over from tamales making day.

We didn’t go to the place where Dad’s ashes are scattered, but I’m thinking next time.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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