Friday, April 11, 2008
"...looking for all the world like for once it was you, not me, who had been struck."
1982: I am sitting on the floor in a patch of sunlight with my back against the wall, knees up. It is late afternoon. I don’t remember what led up to this, but I have the broken pieces of a teacup in my left hand. I don’t think I broke the cup, but I don’t think it is an accident that it was my favourite and it is now in pieces.
I scrape the sharpest of the broken edges across my arm, slightly above the wrist, three or four times. It stings a bit. There's not much blood.
The picture fades. The scars fade. There is no evidence of what happened next.
Struck - Joe Henry
War Baby - Tom Robinson
Landed - Ben Folds
Marlene On The Wall - Suzanne Vega