scratchings 8

‘descanso’

what if i gave you a name, and it made remembering easier. i am a person who tries to keep things. i am girl, also, who forgets she is a woman nowadays, with a body that does womanly things, at times undoes them, unfastens the sound wuu-man like a cord from around the neck.

when you fell, warm, into my hand i put you into a jar. wrapped the jar in newspaper. placed the jar on the dressing table, and slept, awed, across the room, non-dreaming. when i woke up, i put you into the fridge.

the nurse’s name was Valentine. Zimbabwean, and so kind that i called her auntie. the train i write this from is passing a cemetery now. i am more used to travelling in the dark; before now, didn’t know that it was there. i would like to walk though it, slowly, leaving brief and careful things on the air with my breath.

 

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