Long ago, I was wounded. I learned to exist, in reaction, out of touch with the world: I’ll tell you what I meant to be— a device that listened. Not inert: still. A piece of wood. A stone. Why should I tire myself, debating, arguing? Those people breathing in the other beds could hardly follow, being uncontrollable like any dream— Through the blinds, I watched the moon in the night sky, shrinking and swelling—
