The past can only be rewound so much. A long pause ruins memory, slivers of fact lost in static. We treated want then like an Olympic feat, mastering the timing of our hands. There are bodies here, bodies we want to name, bodies we want as memory, bodies that need to escape.
J. Bradley is the author of the forthcoming graphic poetry collection The Bones of Us (YesYes Books, 2014). He lives at iheartfailure.net.