Long After You’ve Forgotten Someone’s Voice, You

Even As A Child, Even As My Blood-past Was Drained From Me, I Understood That If I Were Strong Enough To Accept It, I Was Being Offered A Second History.

Now We're Like Planets, Holding To Each Other From A Great Distance. [...] Now We're Hundreds Of Miles Apart, Our Short Arms Keep Us Lonely, No One Hears What's In My Head. [...] It's March, Even The Birds Don't Know What To Do With Themselves.

When My Parents Were Liberated, Four Years Before I Was Born, They Found That The Ordinary World Outside The Camp Had Been Eradicated. There Was No More Simple Meal, No Thing Was Less Than Extraordinary: A Fork, A Mattress, A Clean Shirt, A Book. Not To Mention Such Things That Can Make One Weep: An Orange, Meat And Vegetables, Hot Water. There Was No Ordinariness To Return To, No Refuge From The Blinding Potency Of Things, An Apple Screaming Its Sweet Juice.

Any Given Moment - No Matter How Casual, How Ordinary - Is Poised, Full Of Gaping Life.

Long After You’ve Forgotten Someone’s Voice, You Can Still Remember The Sound Of Their Happiness Or Their Sadness. You Can Feel It In Your Body.