If not Seuss’s words exactly, the epitaphic “a life is a life, no matter how small” is among the few words, if only, my heart would itself speak in its grief given anima.
In animals we see ourselves, if not separate, if not divorced and othered.
And if we were to see their lives as given and taken, so too would we see an infinite order revealed, lost to all but the quietest of barefooted listeners, for whom only dirt is real.
a fleeting domestic still life; as of today this “liminal” room of our apartment in Cambridge has been reclaimed by the homeowner, thus signaling the beginning of the end of our time here. 34 days to Somerville.
