I am kin to the disobedient woman precisely because I am not a woman, because no one is correctly a woman, because everyone fears being a woman, because the woman striving to be a paragon will die by a thousand dull cuts.
“What does that story tell us?”
Mountain goats have climbed their way hoof and tail apart to the tallest
peaks and leaped with lockets of an old man’s beard. They say the
goats that make the leap and survive, the ones that make it
across to land on the other cliff, get their shadows get turned into clouds.
A few years after the war, a Jewish lady moved in between the Kistjes and the Gelders. None of us remember her very clearly, but the words used in conversation still itch.
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