Читать книгу Strangers - Rob Taylor - Страница 9

so I tell you how she slammed

the trunk of our Toyota on my neck

when I was three and wandering

and she was in a rush for groceries.

No harm was done, I say, and so you laugh,

and I laugh, as does my mom

each time she hears me tell my story

which isn’t mine, of course, but hers—

my brain back then a roil of loose ends,

a squall within which stories wouldn’t last

unless she lashed them there: the scene,

the thud and wail, the nightmare snap

that might have been, the unexpected ways

that terror rises from its resting place

beneath. All these she offered me,

wrapped within her story and her laugh,

the laugh which smoothed the knots

and fused the sea

inside me.