Luisa A. Igloria posted: " In this life, there is a language of wake and another for sleep. One blares its jangled notes in your ear at six in the morning. The other coos faint refrains from the eaves. You separate the wrinkled apples from the tray, line the coffeemaker with" | Luisa A. Igloria February 27 | In this life, there is a language of wake and another for sleep. One blares its jangled notes in your ear at six in the morning. The other coos faint refrains from the eaves. You separate the wrinkled apples from the tray, line the coffeemaker with fluted paper so it's ready. There is a language that restores, and a language of betrayal. Casualty comes from casuelte, meaning chance, incidental; unfortunate loss viewed against the big screen called history. How do you make sense of that which happens, and what befalls another? How do you make sense of the blankness on one side of the page, versus the dark stain where a body burned on the sidewalk? There's nothing that falls, that happens, purely by chance. Wind whips through the night, making the shingles clap. Another strip of paint peels off the gutter. | | | |
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