|
How does one make the body over? It’s a curious kind of position, this falling away of all the things I’ve been born with and acquisition of the new. Do I craft a fresh set of phantom limbs out of ether and air? Or do I do the thing the only way I know how; by poaching live parts from fresh bodies? Walk up to someone unsuspecting and take what they have for my own? No. The only way to do this right is to search the ground for what I have lost; a hand here, a toe there, six ragged fingers springing from a flower pot I sculpted in the eighth grade. Take the body and piece it together, one part at a time; rediscover the past of each limb. Re-member my life. Re-build the white walled city of my youth. Re-populate it with fresh hopes and new horizons. Re-member what it means to be. |
|
|





