Postcard from the Beach

This is not an emergency. This is not a test. When I walk along the shore to hear the waves crash, it triggers some kind of alarm nevertheless. Yesterday I stood in the dishsoap aisle of the dirtiest Kmart in the United States. I was wrapped in the smell of that apartment and it rang the alarm. The quiet of the hotel room at night rings the alarm. The empty plate of room service food left outside the door triggers that alarm. To travel alone is to see the world as it if were in a heightened state of alert. A code orange. When I realized they weren’t rushing to save me, it occurred to me then, for the first time, that I actually was in very real danger. There is more to say——too much to squeeze into this mere note. Have you been able to read what I never said?

for MM

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