December 18, 2008
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.
(The Hong Kong Review, Vol. I, No. 2)