Monthly Archives: October 2014
(for my special teacher) Where time counts the absence of sound and touch is violation; my hands are light, like feathers, floating on air, silence carries weight. Where distance matters and emotions fill, space is content — the rests between my notes; they’re always where I go to find your voice.
Albeit English, he told me his first language was touch. He spoke with hands eloquent if interrogating, words descriptive, in the present tense; I remember how the narratives would wash over me, like water on stone, down contours — running — way too close to my chest.