Here are a few excerpts.
On the road to
You shall not kill—the commandment should be understood inclusively—you shall not kill!
A parliament of storks just past Garwolin. A field full of storks.
Sorrow—that’s the noblest thing linking us to animals. The sorrow of existence.
Granddad says he makes the sign of the cross over all his beloved photographs: Mura (my mother), my father, J. He’s saying goodbye. He thinks about the accountant Mizeracki, who died suddenly, a motorcycle accident, he thinks about those who have wronged him. Then he starts thinking about those he’s wronged, who should forgive him. He met an old lady who had trouble walking. He took her arm and they circled the garden twice. And he realized that he never used to think about helping people, he’d seen people walk slowly so many times.
The night hours pass, and he takes stock of his life. He swallows another sleeping pill. He falls asleep at one, wakes up at four. He performs his morning rituals. He doesn’t throw out the wilted flowers, because I brought them. I’ll probably do the same. Here at the home, there’s a father whose daughter comes to see him. She takes him for a walk, her face radiates joy...Love is when you don’t have anyone so you can be good to everyone....
Splendid occupations: making jam, sewing, darning. Darning holes in nothingness, scrubbing up the abyss, stitching painful opposites together.
Women do this humming.
|MY LATEST CREATION: A SHROUD|
THANK YOU, MORGAN!