As much as they sought to swallow the ghosts of history, their eyes remained curiously trained toward home.
POETRY
“YOU PASSED JUST HOURS AGO” and “NOTES ON SEROCONVERSION”
Am the acronym, the fever dream,
Was elegant, was sharpsheathed
as the Spanish
olive pit.
WIT TEA
The Analytic Hour of J. Alfred Prufrock
You seem conflicted.
ESSAY
Memento Mori
Remember the melting world, burning into frog soup like a lullaby, so slowly we hardly know we are not just falling asleep.
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Breathe
You cannot halt a billion years of evolution. We were here long before you and we will be here long after.
Morehshin Allahyari: Rendering Borders
At the end of the exhibition, the agents were invited to congregate for a final celebration titled “Border Control” where Allahyari’s body was reassembled within the space.
The Last Leaving
Before the leaving, there is the staying, there are the days of in-betweens, sheltered in the arms of our mother’s mothers.
The tenor of days spent on land that is more water than ground, more magic than science. How during late evenings, in the dying light, our breaths crackle like thunder, and our history moves in everything.
Home would no longer be a place where the leaves would bend to the sound of our names, but somewhere that would come to know our silences.
There is no place we will go that will not know of where we’ve been. There is no place we will go that will not know our songs.
AND I WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR MOTHER
The woods might
not sing where you are anymore. But I spot your yolk a moon
away.
