forty nine: status update

Katya Grokhovsky, Status Update, 2011, photo: Andrew Green

Burn my body, scatter my ashes
perhaps make a small diamond
update my status

a story of her existence
they don't give your computer password to your relatives when you die

shouting and trusting grey loving green drinking red feeling soft lying eating
purple cabbage
time tickles, pressuring me, I dive hastily into deep, irrelevant thoughts
whatever
I am hungry, so hungry

across the world, into light
your ascending star has no idea
having thickened doe
itching all and everywhere
imagine us imagine
parents: variety and perverted sense of humor
writing with black cheap acrylic on canvas
feels great
feels so good
I feel so great
I feel so good
You were not there

Remembering something, I'm trying extremely hard to remember something
Something was there
Someone was there
Lurking, pretending not to notice, testing, smirking, laughing
Laughing into tears

Bursting into luxurious song
That song, that's it
I remembered now
I think , I believe, I do believe, I remember now

That song
My mother sang it to me, before I fell asleep, or when I was extremely sick, which was so often, a tiny bundle of bones
hardly breathing, with a forever-blocked nose and painfully swallowing
hot milk, mixed with honey, I listened intently, alert, not sleepy at all, trying to remember the moment. Capturing it. Somehow, aware of the upcoming future, incoming pain
For later, I guess
why was I trying to remember those moments, that song....

How does it go? That song...
Soft voice, soft voice, I can't I can't
It's a dream
no, it happened, it did, really did, truthfully did
It was real
All real
You were there, yes you were there
A small, skeleton-like child, you never ate
never grew somehow for a long time
smallest and weakest

the song....
there was a young boy in the song, he was standing near the fountain
I see his soft, grey silhouette
that's how it went
young boy holding a young girl's hand
and there was a fountain
I have an image of the fountain
it is blurred
then there was an old man holding a hand of an old woman
the young boy, grew into an old man
still holding her hand
and still near the fountain
the same fountain

The melody slowly drifts into my present

I do remember now
The words escape me, they escape me
It is so difficult to remember them

I just can't seem to place them
Mother
mama do you remember the song?
Can I hear it again?




....