Friday, June 03, 2005

I don't remember my father's mother. I don't have a mental picture of her face. What I do remember is a darkened room and a double bed. She died of breast cancer when she was 58 - I must have been four or five. I have no idea how long it took or anything else, except that she had a mastectomy.

In my mind, I become very small. the cells and tissues of my body appear like struts and ropes and building blocks around me, and I fly through the spaces between them. in this superstructure, I find lines of popped balloons stuck to the wall - dead cancer cells. I scrape them up. If I see a balloon anywhere, I just pop it and stuff it into my rubbish bag. which I burn later.

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