Perhaps all things are beings, waiting for the right key to be turned at the right time, and we are but frustrated midwives, randomly trying different keys at different times to release them.
In the name of progress, progressives have enforced new binary categories. Voicing disagreement is similarly branded. Accusations fly. Asking questions, challenging, identifying absurdities like insisting on terms like chest feeding – you are an enemy. The Right is quick to pick it up and use it. If you aren’t with us, you are against us.
I was terrified of the disaster the storm could bring, the damage it could do to my safe world. I was terrified of damage happening when I wasn’t looking because I thought somehow I could stop it if I could see it coming.
"Could I have a look at the Meissen porcelain figurines?" He had a slight accent. He pointed to the shelf. There were about ten figures displayed.
He carefully took one of them in his trembling hands, a shepherdess with a lamb, and carefully put it back in slow motion.
We don’t remember light. We remember
the dark. The cruelties; the misgivings.
We remember winter and fistfuls
of ice, like cold salt tossed in a face
with contempt, a form of shunning, bitter
the gesture; the censure of wind and snow.