Jun 5
“I have folded myself forward and back again to find you. Bent diagonal and straight, till I am nearly torn apart. I have raised up a mountain of mourning, furrowed a valley of sadness, pleated my cries in repeated corrugations, reversed and pleated again, fashioned whole pockets of lamentation, then tucked myself into them, turned myself inside out, crimped my pain into sharp points. And still no boat, nor goldfish, no paper crane, no likeness of you. All I want now is to undo myself, lay me flat again, like a sheet on a bed of healing, smooth out the creases of my grief, and sleep.”
— Jeanne Emmons, “The Origami of Grief,” River Styx (no. 100, May 2018
