In my motherland people kneel before wells.

In my motherland people pray to the crosses of flying birds.

A bone is a key to my people.

Among my people, only the dead have human faces.

- Valzhyna Mort
  • I had a vision once,
    Which wasn’t even mine, of a long breath bounded at its ends by silence.
    Like a sentence following the story of a life until its energy was spent
    And its parentheses closed.

    John Koethe, from “The Distinguished Thing,” Kenyon Review (vol. 308, no. 14, Fall 2008

  • 116 n text on Junio 22, 2017 / words.
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