May 25, 2011
The girl child sitting at the bottom of the staircase must be a dead flower which has found her way to this refuge. A book in her hands for mock peace, for purpose suspended between flipping light switches and strangers' steps, steps like iron bars pressing against her flesh and bones. When he walks past, the girl child looks up for just a moment--her large eyes are swollen, melting in tears and grease. Then she braces herself and returns to the book. The rest of her is frizzy and pale, linen top and small toes in sandals.
The girl child sitting at the bottom of the staircase must be a dead flower which has found her way to this refuge. A book in her hands for mock peace, for purpose suspended between flipping light switches and strangers' steps, steps like iron bars pressing against her flesh and bones. When he walks past, the girl child looks up for just a moment--her large eyes are swollen, melting in tears and grease. Then she braces herself and returns to the book. The rest of her is frizzy and pale, linen top and small toes in sandals.
She is bound to break over the course of the night, if she is to stay inside the building. One of the residents will ask why she sits alone in a place that is not her home. The question will slice her open, right then and there at the bottom of the staircase, where her grief comes pouring until it vanishes along with the last bits of her. And the book of stories written in a foreign language. The book that will make no difference to how she lives past the night.
He turns away from the girl child and goes home. What happens in this vacuum has nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.
This post refers to 'the end of the world and the beginning of everything else' by Steve Ersinghaus.
This post refers to 'the end of the world and the beginning of everything else' by Steve Ersinghaus.
Oh Nicolette, this is wonderful: "The question will slice her open,"
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