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Separation Anxiety
by Mark Murphy In a room, not far from here, a human infant cries its little heart out. How could anyone resent its howls, its tears as mother goes to comfort? Sometimes, it takes the infants voice, to remind us of our own anxieties, given, as we are, to selfish pleasures with its consequences, far beyond reckoning. Now the infant wails, shattering any peace we might have found, a constant reminder of our own children that were still-born, miscarried, never to be: Sapho! Anaïs! Marina! The battles are lost and many, but the war is seldom over for very long. So we listen intently at our doors, over the telephone, worlds obscured by life and death. |
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