A BLOG FOR CREATIVE WRITING STUDENTS AT TEMPLE UNIVERSITY
Here is, the back porch of the dead.You can see them milling around in there, screened in by their own names, looking at us in the same vague and serious way we look at them.
An underground house, a roof of grass --one version of the underworld. It's all we know of death, a world like our own (but darker, blurred).inhabited by beings like ourselves.
The location of the name you're looking forcan be looked up in a book whose resemblance to a phone book seems to claim some contact can be madethrough the simple act of finding a name.
As we touch the name the stone absorbs our grief.It takes us in -- we see ourselves inside it. And yet we feel it as a wall and realize the dead are alljust names now, the separation final.
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