We yearned for the future. How did we learn it, that talent for insatiability? - Margaret Atwood

with shrunken fingers
we ate our oranges and bread,
shivering in the parked car;

though we know we had never
been there before,
we knew we had been there before.

I lie on the floor, washed by nothing and hanging on. I cry at night. I am afraid of hearing voices, or a voice. I have come to the edge, of the land. I could get pushed over.

But in life, a tragedy is not one long scream. It includes everything that led up to it. Hour after trivial hour, day after day, year after year, and then the sudden moment: the knife stab, the shell burst, the plummet of the car from a bridge.