I’m in a new book with many fellow Rhode Island writers and artists. Put together by my friend Xander Marro and part of the Demons book series. Available at dmnspress.com/
“Freedom’s just another word for legs with a mind of their own. Fantastic book for travel and plotting escape plans! Sometimes you just have to go, and/or sometimes you look around and realize that you’ve been left behind.
As part three of a book series that presents thematic collections of writing & pictures by visual artists/musicians/performers/people who have some affiliation with a broad and vaguely defined “world of art”, DMNS presents: Leaving. Perfect bound. 184 pages, RISO printed silkscreened cover on flocked paper. Contributors = a stacked deck of mostly Rhode Islanders past/present/future: Paul McCarthy, Sam Lopes, Rick Benjamin, Kevin Hooyman, Jacob Khepler, Ron Rege Jr Jr, Maren Jensen, Jo Dery, Jieun Reiner, Jim Drain, Cybele Collins, Anabel Vázquez, Jed Hancock & Rebecca Noon, Erik Ruin, Rebecca Siemering, S. Hollis Mickey, JR Uretsky, Dailen Williams , Robert Arellano, Jim Frain, Mark Baumer, and Alan Powell.”@ Xander Marro
Here is the original poem about a conversation with my 4-year-old last year:
You see…you see….
Watching TV, with the little person
She turns to me and says, “How do people die?”
Well, I say, people get old you see…and sometimes sick.
“Oh,”she says,”When you get old, will you die?”
I say, when I get old, not wanting to think about it.
Trying not to let me eyes get misty.
She says, “I’ll miss you,” staring at the screen.
The next day
tucked in as tight as a baby
she says, “Mama, you are going to die someday,
but me and Dada ARE NOT.”
Her eyes set on me.
Hard. Daring me to say the contrary.
Well, you see….
Then, “How did Grandpa die? Was he old or did he leave the store?”
Well….that’s a good question….
I do my best to explain the Big C.
Wake up call.
“Mama. I told my teachers at school you are going to die someday.”
You did? I say, half awake.
Peep, peep, peep outside.
“Uh huh. But I told them I will miss you.”
Kiss on the cheek.
“Mama. I want to sleep on your belly.”
She puts her head on my heart.
Her body wrapped around my middle.
My breech baby.
It all comes around again.
Rebecca Siemering 2015