Saturday, February 19, 2011

to be contained

I've been collecting containers, from suitcases to dry sacks to glass jars: useful and inert spaces for the things I carry.

He said he could feel his cells tearing apart, and that his blankets were made of concrete.  It was enough to send him screaming through the house at 4 am in a half-dream daze, frightening the other students and testing Scott's capacity for calm (he passed).  Typically grounded and rational, an impish smile crept into his features as he relayed the incident: over two days old and fading.

Looking out my window with a cup of tea,  I see my neighbor carrying her toddler, unfazed by the deep drifts of snow and his relentless screaming.

The hardest part about that night was needing desperately to fall apart.


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