memory
03. 12. 21
Names change and memory fades, Bates Island becomes St. Mary’s Island. A lighthouse is built.
Salvaged
Standing in front of you in that hot and airless room, your frightened uncomprehending eyes unnerved me.
Salvaged
Curious, how people flit in and out of memory, sometimes a vague insubstantial presence, at other times crystal clear.
There was about him a brittle dangerous energy not quite contained, forever threatening to erupt, spill over into aggression and violence.
Salvaged
‘Choose a good flat stone, like this one. Weigh it in your hand, feel how it sits between finger and thumb. Now aim low, catch the water a glancing blow.’
Salvaged
It began like this.
He was sixteen, maybe seventeen, and determined to go to sea, sail across the Atlantic to see his brother in Chicago.
