The Reflection, Gustave Courbet,1864

[The Reflection, Gustave Courbert, 1864]



O I been to Sayville. I went down

there with my little brother Jimmy

when I was fourteen. God, I can’t

believe that was fifty years ago! Daddy

still had his leg then, and did

he ever take good care of us. Mommy

never, I mean never was

so happy. She loved sittin’ on the porch singin’

to us–whew! what a sweet voice she had! She gave

us her time, you know, her


Not many mamas do that nowadays. Daddy

worked his butt off for her

and for us before he run up ains’ that scythe. Things

were different after that. Mommy stopped

sing’in and started

yellin’ and that’s when her mouth went

all dried appley and her eyes started

gettin’ closer together. I don’t remember

too many of the little things that happened. I just

sort of remember a color

like a mauve misty color

that changed to orange.

Not one hitch of grey in it, though.

Not that I mind grey.

Grey’s ok when it’s time for grey.

Grey’s strange though how it

creeps in and slips

on your head,

sort of like a halo.



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