22 September 2019
Sing, Unburied, Sing
Jesmyn Ward


I know my wondering’s made me slow.
. . .
This is the kind of world, that makes fools of the living and saints of them once they dead. And devils them throughout.
. . .
Home ain’t always about a place. The house I grew up in is gone. Ain’t nothing but a field and some woods, but even if the house was still there, it ain’t about that.
. . .

“I hear it. Sometimes. When the sun. Sets. When the sun. Rises. The song. In snatches. The stars. A record. The sky. A great record. The lives. Of the living. Of those beyond. See it in flashes. The sound. Beyond the waters.”


”I can’t.”


”I can’t. Come inside.”