Walk the Line

“It is sad that unless you are born a god, your life, from its very beginning, is a mystery to you.” ― Jamaica Kincaid, The Autobiography of My Mother American Horror: Murder House is the story of a couple living with the ghost of their only child. In The Killing parents mourn their murdered daughter. Happy…

Furies

When I was seventeen I played a Fury in a play loosely based on The Libation Bearers by Aeschylus at a summer theatre camp in Cheltenham, England. It was my first introduction to Greek tragedy. The play tells the story of Orestes who kills his mother, Clytemnestra, and avenges his father, Agamemnon, the king of…

Vampires & Stars

  “We’re all stories, in the end.” ― Steven Moffat Three months after my daughter died, I received an email from a psychic in England, who told me, she’d been contacted by a little girl she believed was India. She said that India’s head hurt and that she was crying for her mummy, but with my consent…

The Ruby Slippers

Dorothy: Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas any more. The Wizard of OZ (1939) When I was in grade nine, I auditioned for a school production of “The Wizard of Oz.” All the other girls wanted desperately to be Dorothy or Glinda but I wanted to be the Wicked Witch. I admired her fierceness. Unlike…

An Invincible Heart

India, My Daughter
In front of the purple dinosaur
you kiss me, smack on the lips,
then gallop away. Abandoned
to dust bunnies, I follow scattered
crackers, wanting another kiss.
I find you in a place that has
seen cleaner days. We drink tea from
tiny clay cups. Then you find him,
soft fellow with the sea in his eyes.
You drag him with love, by the fin.
Lesley Buxton, 1999

Little Lark

Music should be your escape-   Missy Elliot India and I like to talk about the tattoos we want. I want a black Underwood typewriter. She wants an Arthur Rackham style illustration of a lark with a bandage around its wing. This seems fitting to me. I can’t remember a time when India didn’t sing….

Putting Out The Fire With Gasoline

Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean. Maya Angelou When India’s admitted to the hospital in late April I understand instinctively she’ll be there a long time. (In fact, she stays forty-seven days.) The massive seizure she’s recuperating from has left her exhausted…

A Way Of Seeing

A lot of life is dealing with your curse, dealing with the cards you were given that aren’t so nice. Does it make you into a monster, or can you temper it in some way, or accept it and go in some other direction?—Wes Craven As a child I’d adored my maternal Grandma, who lived…

These Little Earthquakes

“Oh these little earthquakes. Here we go again. These little earthquakes. Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces.”  Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos Usually I don’t allow myself to speculate whether India will grow out of her epilepsy or be cured. Nobody knows for certain. We don’t even have a real diagnosis. I figure astronomers know more…