Dear Mago,
Thinking of you, as I pack my bags to go to Berlin this weekend.
I have close friends there and feel I need to get some air before I travel to San Francisco in a couple of weeks to visit mother Anne.
Berlin is a city that reminds me of my own first breath, just after the war. Das macht die Berliner Luft luft luft. In my diary from an earlier weekend in Berlin I wrote:
And here you see
Air Bridge Monument
to a fetal City
that the Soviet tried to strangle
on the Autobahn in nineteen forty eight.
Parachutes of bonbons fell to
still unborn children of the war.
DC-3 raisin bombs pumped necessities
every three minutes.
No one need suffocate
as long as the umbilical cord
is not wrapped around her neck
as long as she is securely connected
to the rest
of the west.
If the air presssure in the cabin drops
a mask will be lowered.
Pull it to your face.
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2 comments:
Mago,
Your granddaughter is such a whip. I am envious of her obvious ability to live in such a heightened state of awareness seeminly at all times and to communicate so beautifully. I can't help but think that her ivy league counterparts of the present day won't have half the ability she has to communicate. For several years now she's been something of a hero of mine.
I'm struck when reading your diary entries, how many ways our lives correspond. I have read and thought about my own mother's feelings at living a world away from her fine grandsons. I'm going to head over to the Lookout and see what's going on over there.
Thanks for sharing.
Peace,
Jenny
Sorry, kid, for being so slow to post your comment. Request for approval arrived via my algonet account which has evidently not been fed into my regular mail program. sueanne@conhem.se is quicker.
Let it be known that it pleases me no end to sense that our lives converge.
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