23 April 2006


A Memoir From the Age of Scars

My friend said the dust came from the moon, it was so fine and sharp. On tv the talking heads all said it was old volcanic dust. In the end no one knew for sure, but when the dust came on clouds that appeared on the southern horizon, we all knew we needed to prepare for some rough times. The tiny shards cut many of us. Our faces were crisscrossed with scars for years, as were our arms and hands. We looked like painful roadmaps. We lowered our eyes whenever we met other people. It softened the pain a little.


Sad and scary.
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