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82 pages, Paperback
First published January 30, 2007
There were family photos, but it was difficult to know who the family had really been. One grandma had jumped out of many windows in her ongoing escapes. She was always running. The question that she ran with was constant. Book learning had been practical for her children, but it drove a wedge between she and they. They listened to her stories and could only imagine these stories as text and/or some form of either marketable or unmarketable object. The grandmother realized that in their minds, trauma was something to sell or forget. One child complained that her grandmother’s stories held something back. Grandmother agreed that stories were not functioning the way they once had. 'What about poetry,' she said. The youngest wrote poems. There she found a way to include the historical reality and necessity of grandma’s escapes entwined with her own sense that (excepting madness) there was no place to escape to. The poem tried to say that the child’s attempt to learn the strategies of assimilation was in conflict with atavistic rules of continuance. The problem was, as one man with a gun to his head said, 'I am made to suffer more than is humanely necessary, and therefore it is difficult to care either way.'