On Walking Backwards by Anne Carson

My mother forbad us to walk backwards. That is how the dead

walk, she would say. Where did she get this idea? Perhaps from a 

bad translation. The dead, after all, do not walk backwards but 

they do walk behind us. They have no lungs and cannot call out

but would love for us to turn around. They are victims of love,

many of them.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Lisa Marie Lovett

“I hope this week stirs something deep within you. May the answers you couldn’t see before now rise to the surface like whispers of truth breaking through the fog of uncertainty, and may you find the courage and clarity to bring them to life, to nurture them with intention and let them guide your path forward. I hope your heart finds balance, not by the weight of who you’ve been or the stories that you’ve carried but by the truth of who you are becoming, the truth that anchors you in the present and propels you towards the future. I wish you strength, both in body and spirit and the resilience to weather the storms you may face. May you stand firm in your values, even when life pulls you in many directions. I wish you grace to remain present in the here and the now, even when the pull to drift away feels so very strong. I hope you are reminded of your inner strength, of the power within you that grows with every challenge you face. May you find peace knowing that the journey ahead is u...
Read more

We All Just Need A Fucking Break

 Today I have been extremely low. When I am depressed I feel worthless and ashamed of everything human about myself—everything that makes me who I am. I listened to the same song on repeat for 4 hours straight and it still wasn't enough. I talked to an old friend, which felt comforting but also made me sad,  because I don't want them to go away again. I want to be enough for someone to stick around for. I am enough now, but the depression makes me feel as though I am standing in a separate room, deep under water, with fluorescent lighting on the walls and ceiling while wearing a scratchy wool sweater that is one size too small. This was a terrible day. I wish that I knew how to be around people. I hate being the person that I am sometimes. I feel that the world does not understand me, and I try too hard to force it to. But you cannot make anyone do anything. And you cannot make the sun rise any sooner than it is already designed to (but you can make a cat chase a laser—so mayb...
Read more

When Standing Up Against Genocide Makes Me A Liberal

The current ratio of dead civilians to combatants is only 2:1, my dad says. It is considered normal when each soldier has four dead to their one.  Two is nothing—a string of bad luck.  Wrong place, wrong time. They should have planned more carefully.  Should have followed the rules, followed the sirens.  I passed my parents' neighbor today felling trees  in the field with his son. I remember when he was born, when they carried him  home. I watched them slowly make additions to their home:  a new garage, a new John Deere, a work van, and now, today, an excavator.  His son was bent at the waist, receding hairline in view.  I wonder if he has children of his own, if he would consider it genocide.  My neighbor offered to cut down the tree limbs on the dogwood out front.  They encroached over his property, over the Jeep  he  paid more for  than his own home.  He told me if I ever need anything  to let him know, ...
Read more