Monday, 5 December 2011

Practice

Cousin practices the piano mute. We play in the afternoon in silence. Mother abhors disturbances, noises, interruptions. Only her steps can be heard. Father breathes in small bouts. From time to time one of us is summoned for punishment on account of unameable crimes of which we know nothing, but  like the first sin, they stick to our skin. They can never be redeemed. Our blood mingles with the earth. The sun shines high and after a while we continue playing as before.




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