“After great pain a formal feeling comes–
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions–was it He that bore?
And yesterday–or centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow–
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.”
– Emily Dickinson
Today I woke up at 5. I showered for the first time in days. I wrote a poem entitled “Famous Skin.” I rode on a bus. I carried two back-breakingly heavy bags around for 13 hours straight. I had a test in Hindi. I acted in a short film. I danced to Burmese rap. I tried being fully here. I went to a memorial service for a UNC student. I heard bad news. I ate a stale salad. I drank hot water. And all I really want in life is sleep.
[Photo: A UNC night // Grace Farson]