"Dear Mum!..
If you were alive today I would sit down at your table. You'd pour me a cup of tea. You would sit opposite me like you always did. You'd look me straight in the eye , your cornflower blues twinkling like crazy and you would say
" Well dearie.......what's ailing wee Jock?".
And I would take a sip of tea and a nibble on the corner of a KitKat and I would say
well mum , I've got me some feelings. And I don't know where to put them. And I don't know how to make sense of the world right now and it's making me so damned angry mum. It's making me so ragefull when I look down at my hands these days, my hands are made of fists.
And you would put your own hands on either side of your face and you'd sink into them and you would say " I'm listening".
Well mum I would continue , how can the leaders of nations continue to forget about so many of their people? How can they continue to make war and lie and connive? How can they keep giving to the rich and letting the poor get poorer? How can they persecute their people for being gay or trans or black or handicapped or female? How can they not care about the environment and what problems as a result of their indifference our children and our children's children will inherit ?
How can they believe it is right that we should turn back decades of effort to ensure that every child eats at least one decent, healthy meal a day?
Mum I could go on and on because my mind is full of questions such as these and I'm wondering how the hell all this can still be happening right now? All over the world? Affecting so many people?
And you would stand up and walk over to my side of the table mum. You would bend down and pull me to you.
You would smell faintly of perfume and baking and you would feel so warm and soft. You would squeeze me gently in slow, rhythmic pulses .You'd put your lovely lips to my ear and you would whisper " Shhushh shhhhhhhhhush shoooo"
And there would be no answers forthcoming .
There would be no solutions proffered .
But there would be me and my mum and a quiet room.
And for a moment the world would be put to rights"(с).
Well mum I would continue , how can the leaders of nations continue to forget about so many of their people? How can they continue to make war and lie and connive? How can they keep giving to the rich and letting the poor get poorer? How can they persecute their people for being gay or trans or black or handicapped or female? How can they not care about the environment and what problems as a result of their indifference our children and our children's children will inherit ?
How can they believe it is right that we should turn back decades of effort to ensure that every child eats at least one decent, healthy meal a day?
Mum I could go on and on because my mind is full of questions such as these and I'm wondering how the hell all this can still be happening right now? All over the world? Affecting so many people?
And you would stand up and walk over to my side of the table mum. You would bend down and pull me to you.
You would smell faintly of perfume and baking and you would feel so warm and soft. You would squeeze me gently in slow, rhythmic pulses .You'd put your lovely lips to my ear and you would whisper " Shhushh shhhhhhhhhush shoooo"
And there would be no answers forthcoming .
There would be no solutions proffered .
But there would be me and my mum and a quiet room.
And for a moment the world would be put to rights"(с).
...........................................................................................................................................................................................
Иногда писательский талант проявляется в лаконичности,но в то же время в предельной точности эмоциональной окраски текста...
У моей мамы тоже глаза удивительного оттенка,my Darkling.Быть может,когда-нибудь и я напишу подобное письмо для Неё...надеюсь,это произойдёт нескоро...
Устами Ширли даже проза звучит как поэзия...определённо на свете немало музыкантов и вокалисток,которые в техническом отношении сильнее этой инопланетянки в десятки и тысячи раз.Однако,я ни на секунду не сомневаюсь,что никто из них не умеет говорить с такой же теплотой...чтобы каждое слово достигало центра моего сердца,отражаясь в нём,кристаллизуясь и рождая новые полупрозрачные-полупризрачные образы...
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