

Primal wounds
There aren’t words. There isn’t sense to be made. There are long stretches of emptiness interjected with heaving sobs. It’s such a painful sound, not really even crying. A guttural bawl rising from the depths of the chest. I know that feeling from other times: an old sensation; half numb, half vacant. It reverberates through the ribs and muscles on the left side, and has a life of its own. I can feel my heart beating under my clothes. I can see it rise then fall, sharply, wit