December 18, 2008
Maggie Smith
For just a fraction of a moment
that afternoon, if we think of time
as being a whole, you were the newest
​
​
person in the world. You were
the emptiest vessel on earth,
knowing nothing of this place
​
​
or of yourself—that you even were
a self, that a self was something
one could be, that one could be
​
​
at all, and what was being?
For that narrowest sliver
of a whole, you were the least
​
​
experienced person on earth,
and then you weren't. You knew me
before you knew your own body—
​
​
what to do with your hands,
your pink fists battering your face.
We swaddled you as if against
​
​
that confusion, though I tell you
that confusion never leaves. The body
remains a house unaware of its rooms.
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​
(The Hong Kong Review, Vol. I, No. 2)