Receding Matter
Grey day, indistinct edges fade into tendrils of forgotten thoughts. The birth caul over baby’s face, the thud of dirt on crone’s coffin, everything in between so much receding matter. Ancient burial grounds fester beneath glass and concrete as the living replace the dead, decade upon decade. Water drips, minutes absorbed into earth. The juju beads hold no sway here. **** I don’t know why I write more on gloomy days. Continue reading Receding Matter
