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school is a cold, cruel place11.1.11she's eleven years old and tells me that in the future, she is going to be a robot. not the president, an astronaut, or a chinese seamstress. i consider this answer, her arms, vinyl siding, inert at her waist. i think of her at twenty- made from a warehouse of metal, old furniture, scraps of appliances. is this about immortality? living long enough to kill her abusive father with super robot strength? is this about how naked our flesh makes us, no matter how much we clothe it? is this about sorrow, the way it fills our bodies like gourds and the fear that the human body can only carry so much? i imagine her tombed in, beeping, big winter eyes, slender and carved. i imagine her with no regrets, no ability to cry, murdering people. i imagine her standing, bare limbed, silent, a tree. she is playing with a doll, telling a story about the solstice. she has already forgotten her desire to be a robot, to leave her body drowning in rot. "in some places, there is darkness all day long! " she yells out at the end of her story. her face looks like a saw blade, waiting. i am not sure how to respond. the coldness, the collective pain, dead mayflies everywhere. i imagine her creaking through this darkness, holding a spear like a huge metal warrior, washing her knuckles over the sky to lighten it. change of sky, of life, of heart. she is running her fingers roughly over the grass stains left on her pants. change, i think. polar night winding through her hair and into her ear canals and over her top lip, like snot or tears. |
infinity&beyond
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