Mother calls me angel. I am her angel baby. She protects me. She worries for me. We cry together when my baby boy is given to Catholic Charities on June 9. Her first grand. My one and only.
Life is changing rapidly and it's still Sunday afternoon. I don't know the date. I don't know the time. It's sunny. It's bright. Summer. July.
The coin is tossed by three large demons wearing leather. They turn and maneuver up and down the attic stairs. Large embroidered patches on their broad leathered backs read HELLS ANGEL.
Dragged bodily into the underworld the soul of what matters floats out into the trees and beyond the beyond.
This memoir began rising up spontaneously with the June 8 post.
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