13 August 2016

We see it in a flash. She means the proof, or at least what shape the proof proves. Memory is also erasure. This image pushes another out of the box, no yellow card to stop time. Our red chair's superimposed in a high school bus. Radhika remembers the poet they discussed in class died in 2014: “The wind turns gray in my hands,” she tells me. More is less, and she longs for more. I suggest that less is more and I long for less, but she corrects me. Someone posts a black and white photograph of a plane, in every seat a small box and in every box a baby. A comment refers us to a man with a Vietnamese face and an Irish brogue, forty-two years after he flew in a box inside a plane. Sangha lay in a box attached to the bulkhead. Moses drifted in a box downstream. A white man attacks a friend's son in an act of road rage, yells at him to go back to Africa. If you're going to be a racist, his mother avers, at least call him “chink.”

--13 August 2016

[Zwicky #64]