Visitation

Visitation Marjorie Sandor For my daughter One February morning, not long after I left your father, my own came to visit me. He'd been dead over twenty years by then, and you were barely six. Do you remember that little apartment we moved into, with its linens and forks and pans all furnished, the wood-stove we used every night? Rooms that felt like sanctuary but never quite home, which held the strange delights of the temporary bivouac but also the underbelly of fear, for it was the place to which you came every other week without promise or choice. It spooked me, I can tell you, now that you're a little older. Under my feeling of temporary safety lay a darker note I never let rise up: a feeling of deep insecurity that maybe underlies all our dwellingplaces, maybe underlies our passion for "decorating" once we convince ourselves that we own a space. How appropriate that my father should visit here. A ghost in a ghostly, in-between place. Do you remember the short hallway connecting our bedrooms, the dark brown linoleum, so icy-cold on your toes when you got up for school those winter mornings? That's where I saw http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2006 by the University of Nebraska Press.
ISSN
1542-426X
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

Marjorie Sandor For my daughter One February morning, not long after I left your father, my own came to visit me. He'd been dead over twenty years by then, and you were barely six. Do you remember that little apartment we moved into, with its linens and forks and pans all furnished, the wood-stove we used every night? Rooms that felt like sanctuary but never quite home, which held the strange delights of the temporary bivouac but also the underbelly of fear, for it was the place to which you came every other week without promise or choice. It spooked me, I can tell you, now that you're a little older. Under my feeling of temporary safety lay a darker note I never let rise up: a feeling of deep insecurity that maybe underlies all our dwellingplaces, maybe underlies our passion for "decorating" once we convince ourselves that we own a space. How appropriate that my father should visit here. A ghost in a ghostly, in-between place. Do you remember the short hallway connecting our bedrooms, the dark brown linoleum, so icy-cold on your toes when you got up for school those winter mornings? That's where I saw

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: May 31, 2006

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