I can’t tell if I’m riding away from my mother’s ghost or toward her memory. Of course I hear her. I couldn’t stop if I tried. It’s just that she’s speaking in a language the wind won’t translate.
It’s my last week in Berlin. I pedal down Martin Luther Strasse. In 1530, the street’s namesake wrote “They are trying to make me into a fixed star. I am an irregular planet.” In Ancient Greek, the word “planet” means “to wander.”
My latest for Ebony.
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- gw1044 said: Child, this was amazing. I felt like i was on that journey with you.
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