On a Memory of Dissociation | Museum-Quality Art Print

He once spoke
of his first dissociative memory:
It happened in a shaded room
at her aunt’s house.
She sat across from me,
damp chill pressing in
through the frost-laced window—
settling on our skin.
Suddenly—
a feeling.
A sharp kind of foresight.
Or empathy.
“Right now,”
“we both wish to become some kind of sea creature.”
She leaned in the southwest corner,
fingering an old toy car from her childhood.
I thought of things I couldn’t tell her—
still haven’t.
Restless, childish shame.
Then,
she began—
speaking freely
of her father’s time at sea.
That part of the ocean, she said,
was always fogged over.
Its color—red,
like mermaid scales.
“He kept a crown of jasmine and wisteria on board,”
she told me.
I hesitated,
unsure what to say.
Then she added:
“He might have loved my mother.”
I stayed quiet.
Just looked at her,
etching her cat-like, fragile face
into some concealed corner of my heart.
The tide drew in.
We lit a small fire.
She played piano for a while—
then grew drowsy,
curled into the chair,
eyes closed.
I gazed at her,
speechless,
wanting to say:
Out on the sea tonight,
the fog is rising—
algae breathe slow,
tired.
And far, far off,
a strange, beautiful song
calls in the dark.
Too many quiet things.
But I—
I could not tell her.
The flames dimmed.
Ash scented the air.
The wind outside
had stilled.
And in our hearts—
only soft, gray noise.

他这样谈到自己第一次失神的回忆：
那是在她姑姑家背阴的房间里，我望着她，湿寒的潮气透过上霜的窗子贴覆于我们的皮肤表面
我突然有一种感觉
一种强烈的预知，或是共情
「我和她在此刻都想成为任何一种海洋生物」
她靠坐在房间西南角，摆弄起一件童年的玩具车
我在意起一些不能告知且仍未告知她的事
幼稚地局促不安
她突然开始毫不顾忌地讲起她父亲出海的经历
那处海域时常烟雾弥漫，颜色赤红如人鱼的鳞片
「他的船上一直放着那些用迎春花和紫藤萝编织的头环」
我迟疑了一下，不知应该说些什么，接着，她又说道
「他或许很爱我的妈妈」
我没有做声，只是呆望着她，在心中一个隐晦的角落刻画着她那猫般脆弱的面庞
潮汐降临
我们生起了一堆小小的火
她为我弹了一会儿钢琴，随即感到困倦似的，依偎在椅子里，闭上了双目
我失神地望着她，想告诉她夜里的海面上升起了丛丛烟雾
那些藻类，疲倦不堪的呼吸
以及来自海的遥远之处，似乎传来了神妙的歌声
太多默密的事
可惜不能
我，不能告诉她
火焰低灭，木灰馨香
外面的风有些沉寂了
而我们的心上，满是灰白的噪点