(her lover:  Yes and in despair your soul becomes an object.  So easy to forget though the sloth of contrition which leads to a bored pride.  How easy to forget when our security is shattered a something that I was then and yes sometimes it calls to me but I was young and I’m young every time I get down on my knees and pray and then somehow I become old and I look upon it like I know everything what haunts us all when we have to get down on our knees again…  (her lover a doubt a fear creeping into his eyes as he looks out the kitchen window out into the only the natural light where they sit a memory maybe of being called and so many resolutions to change an assurance that it is time maybe he remembers his own youth still being in it when he couldn’t be himself and that’s his only fear now—what happens when you can’t be yourself)  Show me.  Show me what you were when he forced himself upon you what you’ve already told me of the first kiss happening in a tree house of your childhood the same tree your brother etched yours and his (your cousin’s) name and is that what you remember two memories enfolded—a memory from when you were three and your grandfather called out to you and another game another hide and go seek but not after an Easter egg hunt where your father went looking for you and you hid in that tree the memory of your father finding you a juxtaposition of guilt and not guilt after it happened because you weren’t three no more you were eighteen and this time when you hid there was no joy in being found the seed of the child in your room sleeping (your son) the last sense of any ownership of your body taken away and yes I can see this how even your soul can become an object—and if this can happen what is there to be afraid of?  Show me again what your mother wrote…)

And the letter was already there.  Between them.  And it hadn’t changed at all.  It was an immovable object.  Not trapped in a time but passing hands.  Opened and then closed again.  It rested by a vase of dead flowers.  The child’s (Solomon’s) diapers and an empty coffee can the only other things on the table…

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