An Exposed Thread
An image of G sticks with me:
lying in the beautiful soft pink,
a thread exposed on her lower lip.
An imperfection.
A delicate mistake,
almost beautiful,
revealing the truth concealed by layers
of concealer and foundation.
Something was odd about her mouth,
it wasn’t right…
she was made of resin or wax,
a replica of the woman I love.
Her vacant expression,
the nonsensical sleeping façade,
glasses on like she’d need them for reading
later when the casket was in the ground
and she had become bored of her situation.
G wound’t have been proud of me,
of how weak I felt in her presence,
of how I couldn’t touch her,
couldn’t speak to her,
couldn’t pretend that she was napping,
especially with the thread exposed,
pulled through, pushed into my heart,
anchoring me to this awareness.
I’m haunted by her waxy face,
the rigid opacity of her wrinkles,
the horror of loss.
An image of G sticks with me:
imperfection,
silence.
That shell won’t leave me,
and I guess I don’t want it to.
Written 26 December 2000 in Oklahoma.
Brian Fuchs, “An Exposed Thread” from Muskox vs. Unicorn (Scissortail Press, 2020)
Original Version:
twenty-two
I keep getting the same image of G in my head. Lying in the beautiful soft pink, a thread exposed on her lower lip, an imperfection. Something was odd about her mouth, it wasn’t right… it looked as though she were made of resin or wax. I can see the vacant expression in her sleeping face. In life she was fully expressive, day and night. It haunts me lately that I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t speak to her, couldn’t touch the casket after carrying it to the car. G would not have been proud of me. She would have been irritated with how weak I was and how I could not comfort Dad and Rita. Now I realize the horror. I ache because I cannot call her. I never called her, but she was always there. Now I have lost my opportunity. I pray I am not so cold to others. That face, the false face on my grandma’s shell will never leave me — I know that. And I guess I don’t want it to.
12.26.2000
part of the chapbook Studies In Loneliness