I handed him my Macy's bags of facts: eight years of EOBs & tax returns. He climbed the steps to hurl them in the truck with others’ ready to be crushed by blades. And so the re-creation has begun, the tabula rasa, like a magic slate, a child's whose rub or peel of plastic delights: now you see it, now you don't. No truth to spin, no monument. The letters, shapes evaporate like homes dismantling in charity vans, the furniture displaced like lives without a country's tenderness. No ashes to enshrine from documents, no mercy found, no heart to resurrect.
Photo Credit: Staff