You need someone to bear witness to your life or you might disappear from existance. I can immediately tell when a friend calls and recounts all the minutiae of the day to me that she has no one to tell. At work, a fellow teacher interrupted my class to tell me the long details of how her car mirror was clipped in a parking lot.
My witness is the endless notebooks I fill with precisely this kind of information- incidents at the laundromat, how I felt slighted by a waitress, lists of what I need to do but may never get around to. It's written down, it really happened, and thus I exist.
I had the strange experience (on Facebook, of course) of a friend who died but her picture kept popping up even though I had (cruelly, perhaps?) unfriended her. It was her birthday and wonderful memories were posted on her wall. Facebook has a function its founders would never have imagined.
Secrets of green grass, backyards
and painted faces.
this California child remembered.
Then, Mediterranean blue,
Barcelona, a new love, captured.
In the streets of the Gothic,
on terraces high,
winding up caracol stairways,
You are present-
in the cool drink of cava,
the waves rolling in
from Badalona beach,
or the rocky view from Montsant.
Too short, this life