As the world closed in, the sunflowers bloomed.
The thing about the body is that it is an archive
and the thing about trauma is that it drills
an active volcano into the chest.
This place of pure pain. This place of pure contradiction. This place of pure fiction. This place where nothing is pure.
in the grass that cracks open concrete
and in the seeds that never found soil
but found sea
imperishable testaments to
The mother dies. Or maybe she kills herself. Or maybe she is killed. The father locks the two-year-old child in a room. Covers up the windows. The father believes that the child, deprived of language, will begin to speak the language of God.