…one day grass will grow over every city.
for my grandma, there was no other place. she would plunge headfirst into herself and let herself sink. every fall gave her meaning. she would say: while the spring gushes we should drink, when it dries up, we should dig it again. consequences will find reasons anew, anyway.
in my grandma’s eyesight a landscape fluttered.
she snuck in.
she herself became a landscape.
