…but there is no taxonomy for the widening sprawl of my life. The roots cannot always be traced. I have become familiar with many languages. And others that once comprised the fabric of my thoughts have grown unfamiliar. Family have become strangers then become family again; and strangers have become family and become strangers again. Cadences and cultures that were once at the center are now othered.
The body has a rough lot. In most conceptual frameworks, and in most metaphors, it is stripped of all agency, not especially relevant when unyoked from its invisible, more valuable counterparts.
But the body is a rebel. The body does not stay in place.
it occurs to me that my grandmother may have had a richer inner life than any of us, that she wasn’t losing much at all putting…“a curtain over that bright cage” that is the world and its invitation.
…I wondered about the other world, the one that children are from before they arrive. It’s a world that is located both in the room and somewhere entirely else, a world whose temporary proximity wrenches us from the catastrophe of living in this world and being this person, this subject. I wondered if it’s what children bring rather than what they must bear that makes us want them.