(Notes on story)
by Marisa Siegel
There is in the story such waste. There is so much anger. You dig furiously and think you’ve clawed through the anger as another wall of pain approaches. Or, you throw yourself at the wall, needing to remember that kind of pain.
There is also in the story so much music. Boxes. Porches. There was a room with a teal carpet and it was erased and then demolished. (This is getting very autobiographical which should not be confused with truthful and stops now.)
The heart of the story is another story. Once upon a time, you were not just a recorder of events. A placeholder until everyone is ready to hear the story. Once upon a time, you could at least count on an understanding.
The heart of the story is about what can and cannot disappear. The story isn’t ready and neither are you. The window is cracked open, again. How to ask for what you need and not run away. To settle the question of course.