Tag Archives: incest

no longer the forensic evidence

17th/18th century graffiti by the south door of St.Thomas's church, raised clay outline of a human figureGood morning good morning! It’s grey out today, the sun still tucked under fog, and I’m watching the people with their dogs: the smoker lighting his cigarette while his german shepherd runs around off leash; the young man holding a leash attached to his pale-furred barker in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other; the woman walking the little Boston Terrier that Sophie so loves to wrestle with.

This morning so far it’s quiet out, the commuter traffic not yet picked up and I’m here with freesia on the table and a cup of jasmine green tea. Today is maybe all about the smells. My body’s a little tight this morning; some yoga or stretching would be good — how do you welcome your body into a new day?

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Yesterday, my analyst said, “You don’t have to the the body of evidence anymore.” He was reflecting on this thing that I am wrangling with inside these days, this idea that perhaps my identity and self is not¬†Incest¬†all the way through.

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