The translingual has made a traitor of me.
Prose
During a recent conversation with a friend, we struck upon the topic of her nearly complete collection of Nancy Drew hardcovers. I immediately pictured them as they had appeared in my childhood: books aged prematurely by the humidity of numerous seasons spent reading them in the Caribbean.
For all the unknowns we’ve been asked to sit with, astrology offers not answers but symbolic context: a frame that holds this moment, the hint that perhaps there is meaning –– even if we don’t know quite what that is –– to what we are living through.
My flip-fold was masterful on a different register, and it was performed for a select audience — that other gymgoer.
