Remnant
By agora
Remnant “How do you tell a man who has removed the bodies of children nailed to walls that the world can ever be the same again?” (from a conversation with a readjustment counsellor for Canadian peacekeepers who served in Rwanda) I have known this oak tree just beyond the door for all my life. It was here when I was a baby when I was a little boy when I was a teenager when I went away. I had not understood how twisted and imperfect it is. I had not understood how unclean it is, mossed and insected and infected. It was once a friend. Now it is a stranger. I talked to it before my first day of school before my first date after my mother died after my father died before I died before yesterday. The street beyond is full of the noise of living meaning nothing. The tree no longer speaks no longer listens and there is no one else who speaks a remnant of my mother tongue. Written November 12th, 2001 © on Nov 12 2001 01:10 AM PST 0 • 1
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"Remnant..."