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Forum » Literatur, Kunst & Philosophie » ThreadGedichte - lost & found (2)
08.06.2019 22:19
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A Kind of Thinking The potter turning clay into a vase by force applied evenly to all sides, lifting so what’s left is muscle memory, willing container, and the occasional faint impression of a finger—is this what it was like, becoming? All summer, we languished in applied physics. A ball secured to a long string hung from a tall pole. The point was to punch and watch it return to you. If someone hit the ball mid-orbit, it looped back in the opposite direction. That was all it took for a fundamental change. I watched the clumsy injuries unfold. The world was tender work, ours and not, tamed and taming. Girls gathered flowers for crowns, boys whispered in the shade of the basketball courts. What happened and didn’t pushed with equal force. Head against the bus window, colors passed beneath the bridge, the river. The colors passed, no sense sufficient to make sense, but gathering at the edges, impressions of some order; sudden gladness bloomed with all the qualities of light. In its loveliness, summer said something encouraging, and yet, for all its intimations, indefinite and silent, careful with becoming. Maya Catherine Popa
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