If I knew a way to bring my parents joy,
I
would not hesitate.
When my mother tells me
she
wants me to be happy,
after
all these years,
I
finally believe it.
--And
it hurts.
I was blind,
--not selfish,
but stupid.
My
father did so many little things,
out
of sincere kindness,
like
sending me postcards of American Indians.
--A
thousand little things that I did not understand.--
You might
call it egoism,
but
that would be unfair to my younger self:
The
mind is burdened and cluttered,
by
a thousand smaller or larger obstacles:
You
can't see past them,
and
you can't see around them.
Until
one day they disappear,
and
the sweet sadness starts.
Pardubice
2
September 2013
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