Here is my body. I am a kite.
There is a hammock in the house. It is tied snugly inside our living room, between a wooden column and a tree trunk that extended from outside. I eased myself into its woven body—something hemp, or a synthetic fiber— and I swayed myself slowly with the slowness of time. The rustling of leaves reminded me of kite-flying, tree-climbing, and running across concrete courts, running up...
wordjournal: noun • a vague feeling of sadness, seemingly without cause
(after the quake)
When the possibility of death presents itself, we are reminded of who we love. This afternoon, during and after the earthquake, I called and sent messages to A (he was asleep), A’s mother (she was driving) my sister Mara (she was at home and she didn’t feel it), and the Amigas, the friends closest to me outside of family (they were safe). I thought about the house in Fremont. I...