Maggie Nelson

Jane: A Murder (Soft Skull ShortLit)

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    Marionцитує2 роки тому
    We walk on air, Watson.
    There is only the moon, embalmed in phosphorous.
    There is only a crow in a tree. Make notes.
    b2639609927цитує10 місяців тому
    She was always 100% prepared, had always thought about the material, and—as was typical with her—had a basic insecurity that she never quite understood all she needed to understand.
    b2639609927цитує10 місяців тому
    She was very, very hard on us,
    my mother now notes. But you know
    how people are often merciless
    on those they love the most
    b2639609927цитує10 місяців тому
    It feels different to mourn something without naming its name
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    Above her, the sun is still trying to burn through the mist. Strange, she thinks, how the sun so often appears as a pale circle, not the orgy of unthinkable fire that it is.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    I go on and I don’t know whether I’m going into darkness or into light and joy,
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    She was sad, happy, triumphant, subdued. And I think I, in a way, understood. Maybe that was it.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    Am I to live this life

    with a blameless ferocity?

    Then wait

    for morning to bring

    the bright sediment of things

    into focus. It

    comes clear.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    For a moment I thought time might stop, and we could live together forever under my sheets.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    Fears and doubts don’t disappear

    just because it’s your birthday—

    Are you certain the direction you’re taking

    is the best for you—will make you happiest—
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    I seem only happy when I’m eating or reading.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    It’s too late to help her, but the want

    still cripples the heart.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    It is not the time to ask why these things happen,

    but to have faith, the reverend said,

    and four hundred people wept.

    Thirty years later the morning is quiet

    and faithless. It is time

    to ask questions.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік

    does not appear to itself

    chopped up in bits,

    William James

    once said.

    It appears to itself as continuous.

    But there can be

    holes in time

    the mind tries

    to ignore, holes

    that perforate

    the felt of

    the night sky.

    An aching gap,

    James said, trying

    to describe

    the space made

    by a lost word.

    To fill it up

    is the destiny

    of our thoughts.

    What transpired

    for five and

    a half hours

    between Jane

    and her murderer

    is a gap so black

    it could eat

    an entire sun

    without leaving

    a trace. Listen

    hard enough,

    James said.

    You can hear

    the rhythm

    of the ache.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    Skin is soft; it takes what you do to it.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік

    They knew how to mourn

    with dignity,

    my mother says.

    It’s the Calvinist way.

    As if keening on your knees

    were somehow obscene

    As if there were a control

    so marvelous

    you could teach it

    to eat pain.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    Somewhere on the other end of that ribbon, Jane was probably still alive.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    Did she feel for a moment

    that something wasn’t quite right?
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    The whole photo

    is dreamy, as if washed

    in milk, Jane’s skin

    a pale apricot and

    glowing. And I love it,

    this lush, fuzzy sliver

    in which two people

    once spread out

    on damp sand

    and loved one another.
    Ivana Melgozaцитуєторік
    I knew that the study abroad experience would be wonderful for her and encouraged her to pursue it. But I strongly sensed I was going to miss her. And, of course, I did.
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