A New Language
Now the sounds twist in your ears, all the verbs wrong—present and you tensed in the past, no word for future, tomorrow. How to translate this plainest hour, grief’s land mines plotted across the hours’ winter fields, ambush planted under every step. Some days, a journey. Some nights, a fight through foreign dreams. One breath, one word at a time, here, now, yes. A phrasebook, color-coded. One jay in the pine, turning blue away from gravity, into a jewel. A bench where the fountain mutters and children laugh from the swings. It flashes back to you in short bits, in...
Read More