POWERFUL...regret

I still sometimes dream that I'm the mother of your children. I wanted her to die. -Susannah Fincannon Ludlow (played by Julia Ormond)

MOVIE: Legends Of The Fall, 1994


Tristan finally returns during Prohibition, bringing life back to the ranch and his father. He accepts Susannah's marriage to Alfred, falls in love with and marries Isabel II, and they have two children. Life seems to become more normal as Tristan finds solace in his young family. During Prohibition, Tristan becomes involved in small-scale smuggling bootleg liquor, finding himself at odds with the O'Banion brothers. Tristan's wife is accidentally killed by a corrupt police officer working for the O'Banions and in a fit of agonized grief, Tristan beats the officer to near death and has to plead guilty and serve 30 days in jail. Susannah visits, but Tristan refuses her advances and insists she "go home to Alfred," her rightful husband.*

*This is when the statemet (i.e. the quote above) is stated.


In writing this piece I deemed to take it another way, to assume the two parties feel the exact way about each other. So enjoy...




OUR CHILD
No solace remains
Neither vestiges of it
Remain here
In empty corners
Carved out
By the heart’s
Breaking
Shattering to a million
Pieces
Peace is…
Reluctant
Reticent even
Amid the cast off clothing
Skimpy, sexy, practical
Or otherwise
War paints of lipsticks
Eye shadow and mascara
Polish for slight eager claws
Dripping to a puddle of pink
The marks left mean nothing
Physical nor emotional
Physically, skin scribbles mean little
J’y suis, j’y reste
Here I am, here I remain
Clever sentiment, really
Emotionally speaking…
Too painful
Even up to now
Yet and still she thinks
Of a quiet whisper
Saying
“Still…
Sometimes I dream that
I am
The mother of your children”

No comfort lingers
Nor any remnants of such
Ruminate here
In shallow spaces
Hollowed out
By the word’s
Falling
Tumbling gracefully into
Hearing
Here things…
Hurt slowly
Torturous even
Amid the discarded roses
White, lavender, red
Or otherwise
Cast away letters
With love words and care
Songs written in the moment
Merely shreds upon the hardwood
The scars that count for less
Emotional nor physically
Physically, outer inked are irrelevant
Pax Aurora
The peace of Aurora
No peace left, not now
Emotionally speaking…
Too bitter to stomach
Even up to now
Here and again he thinks
Of a slow escape
Saying
“Still…
Sometimes I dream that
I am
The father of your children”