26 Dec 2022

Memory. A vast mass of neurons. Space. Time moving backward. A childhood kitchen. A foreign tongue. The smell of machine oil, hot, a day’s work. The day ends. A cell dies. More die and aren’t repaired. A legacy unleft. A prophecy unmet. All of it unspooling slowly, then all at once. We are just witnesses.

An elderly woman stands in her dining room, grasping the shoulder of her husband who sits in front of her. Both are smiling.