ISSUE: Winter 2002
Sunken, shadowy hollows, facial muscle slack as incapacity—
not the hard power of a death mask, rather the face itself,
a slightly parted mouth, her teeth pressed against her lip. Absent
the furrows, scowl, fleeting wistful glance. Not peace, unless
peace is absence without relinquishment, release neither felt
nor perceived. Some, it seems, smile.
She looks so absent, as if her soul had crawled out of her mouth,
like an imp. What is it? Annihilation? How then care for this
death-encoded species? How care for your own life? How
relinquish in time what time has made barren?
