Before

She used to talk to me. About her life. Happily sometimes, Sometimes not. Scenes from her inner landscape. I would marvel at the delight she took

And my own body felt more alive than it ever had, as if the woman’s long-nailed finger had reached into my chest and kindled the flame in my heart. I could hear every sound around me again, painfully. I swallowed, tasting each particular smell. Human piss. Dirty wool. The sweat of a person about to die. Gummy and blue, like rainwater caught in a stone’s cleft. Bird droppings. Balsam perfume. Galbanum incense. The dense, moist center of yeasty bread.

LACUNA A small comfort to know you already have lips, eyelashes, a bellybutton, a way of taking coffee; already have friends, ticket stubs, scars,