Esma: “Because the butterfly’s yellow wing flickering in black mud was a word stranded by its language. Because no one else was coming—& I ran out of reasons. So I gathered fistfuls of ash, dark as ink, hammered them into marrow, into a skull thick enough to keep the gentle curse of dreams. Yes, I aimed for mercy— but came only close as building a cage around the heart. Shutters over the eyes. Yes, I gave it hands despite knowing that to stretch that clay slab into five blades of light, I would go too far. Because I, too, needed a place to hold me. So I dipped my fingers back into the fire, pried open the lower face until the wound widened into a throat, until every leaf shook silver with that god -awful scream & I was done. & it was human.”

“Because the butterfly’s yellow wing flickering in black mud was a word stranded by its language. Because no one else was coming—& I ran out of reasons. So I gathered fistfuls of ash, dark as ink, hammered them into marrow, into a skull thick enough to keep the gentle curse of dreams. Yes, I aimed for mercy— but came only close as building a cage around the heart. Shutters over the eyes. Yes, I gave it hands despite knowing that to stretch that clay slab into five blades of light, I would go too far. Because I, too, needed a place to hold me. So I dipped my fingers back into the fire, pried open the lower face until the wound widened into a throat, until every leaf shook silver with that god -awful scream & I was done. & it was human.”

Sayfa 85Kitabı okudu

Time Is A Mother Ocean Vuong

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Esma