object of memory

we must return to where it was lost / if we want to find it again

Month: December 2023

  • body narrative

    body narrative

    Much to my loving husband’s chagrin, I adore tattoos. I have several and the collection has grown in recent years. With age I have found a deeper connection with my body, my skin. In spaces where I once wished to obscure my stories, I now find beauty in the reveal. I enjoy the feeling of the art being tattooed. There is something about the needle work that calms and serves as markers of time, moments, and meaning.

    The relationship between my body and me is complex at best. The empowerment derived from having a history I control written upon it is more meaningful than I ever imagined.

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  • sun turns the evening to rose

    sun turns the evening to rose

    Reese meets me in the hallway before school, ready for our twice-a-week individual work. I kneel and gently ask her to take off her backpack and coat. As I speak, she suddenly freezes, tears welling in her eyes.

    “Your voice is wrong,” she says, tone rising with distress. Baffled, I keep myself calm and steady, which is our usual way unless we are playing.

    “Your voice is telling me you are upset,” she cries, pushing her palms toward me. “Why are you sad?” she yells.

    (more…)
  • aliveness in the darkest of spaces

    aliveness in the darkest of spaces

    A student runs toward me as I carry a bowl of lettuce, peppers, and baby carrots to the rabbit hutch. “I want to help!” he yells, zooming to my side. He is four and in the early care program, and I know him because he loves animals just as much as I do. I let him make two small bowls of salad for the rabbits.

    I lift the top of the hutch to remove the old food cups, and beneath one is the lifeless body of a newborn bunny. Instinctually, I cover the tiny corpse, bend to accept the child’s salad, and call out to the early care children that they are taking a surprise trip to the playground.

    When the room is quiet, I lift the kit carefully with a towel and hold it in my hand. It is still pink. Its eyes are closed. It is all at once life and death. It is impossible to know where one stopped and the other began. The world is airless for a moment. I feel nothing, and then deep sadness that burns through my chest.

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