Strictly speaking, "The Brush" is not
autobiography. But we all know what it is like to panic out of all proportion upon finding that some everyday object that we depend on is missing. Often when grieving over the loss of a loved one -- whether through death, severe illness or estrangement --, we find that panic over losing an object reels out of all proportion to its importance. Psychologists remind us that we transfer emotions that we tend to view as exaggerated or even unacceptable. 'Not for public view.' It feels easier to let ourselves fall apart over a missing shoe. And perhaps it helps us harden against the devastating emptiness, anger, fear, and confusion that assault us consciously or unconsciously for what seems forever. Instead of drowning, we kick our way to the surface and scream about how murky and cold the water is. . .something like that. If I am not being clear, let's blame it on the hour. Balmy Breezes and Smooth Waters to All, and to All a Good Night, 'Pea'<3

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                   The Brush
 
I have misplaced you.  
I didn't mean to.
It started with little things.  First,
it was a hairbrush.   I kept it – always,
ALways  –  on a sagging shelf
above the sink.  Show you.
It is gone.  It was there.  I swear.
It was there.  I looked and looked
and I looked.   Shot darts at the corner
with blind eyes,  willing the thing
out of the ether.  Tomorrow hell, now!
Sorry, a cornered voice whispered.
Only a shelf.   Empty, at that.
Desertion happened so fast.
Hair a disaster.  Just look.  
Felt halfway together,  now this.
Did my part, I swear.   Say
I am responsible.  Best to accept,
but a brush cannot get up and waltz
away.  Need established.   Think  
of all that work trying to keep things
in order.  Fool-I ransacked my closet.
Back to the hamper,  then dashed
to yours.  No, no, nothing.  On or under
our bed.  Frisked both desks, found
a picture of a woman in a thong.
Hair unbrushed.  Banged open doors.
Closed, closed.  Fridge, no,  car, forget.
Certain evidence in your backseat,
no use bringing up.   Point is, if
there is,  came up empty.  Come.
Things are not supposed to disappear.
Things just do not disappear.  You
were here, tell me.   Since then I lose
all the time.  Shoe, key, year,
ring,  mind.   Cup with your team
you walked off and forgot.  People.   
People disappear.   Things
simply are not allowed.
 
 
 
(c) Phyllis Jean Green,  2006