‘History counts its skeletons in round numbers.
A thousand and one remains a thousand,
as though the one had never existed:
an imaginary embryo, an empty cradle,
…
emptiness running down steps toward the garden,
nobody’s place in line.”
—Wislawa Szymborska (b. 1923), Polish poet.
as though the one had never existed:
an imaginary embryo, an empty cradle,
…
emptiness running down steps toward the garden,
nobody’s place in line.”
—Wislawa Szymborska (b. 1923), Polish poet.
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