The End of the Holidays by Mark Perlberg We drop you at O’Hare with your young husband, two slim figures under paradoxical signs: United and Departures. The season’s perfect oxymoron. Dawn is a rumor, the wind bites, but there are things fathers still can do for daughters. Off you go looking tired and New Wave under the airport’s aquarium lights, with your Coleman cooler and new, long coat, something to wear to the office and to parties where down jackets are not de rigeur. Last week winter bared its teeth. I think of summer and how the veins in a leaf come together and divide come together and divide. That’s how it is with us now as you fly west toward your thirties I set my new cap at a nautical angle, shift baggage I know I’ll carry with me always to a nether hatch where it can do only small harm, haul up fresh sail and point my craft toward the punctual sunrise.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 15:05:14 +0000
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