And suddenly I could not stop: God, I said. What good is language? part of me wondered, but I did not stop
In the Wantu language, which was spoken in North California for thousands of years, there is no word for the right or left side of the body.
How can you know you’ve survived? The hands still move, the feet, the heart though the mouth is frozen shut. I am taking the groceries out from the bag. I am putting the dishes Into the sink.
Saw the barn door at a distance
that appeared then complete.
Lay down in the offering earth,
I incumbent, wishing for,
The girl with the open face, she is feeding her brother from her bowl of soup.
I don’t know what made me do it. It was like getting up late at night and going out to find the moon, hung full, at the end of the block. Framed, between the low row of houses.
I will not be scared, it said,
take of me, take of me—begin:
And like a tree. And like a tree
A lake flickers after snow, and I enter the refraction,
like playing the piano–
fingers moving under hand