“
Now reading
What Cannot Be Held
I might have called her Chayala for life, but knew her only as shadow and light, an echo on a sonogram screen, a preview of a chord I'd never hear. Her image was gathered from swipes of a probe. Sifting through layers of tissue and bone, the trained eye could pick out from fluid's play the outline of heart and head, digits that waved like sea anemones. Different views - cross-sectional maps- guided the search for clues to the flaw, knitted in code and handed down the line. Figure rose from changing ground, hovered ghost-like and then, reversing roles, broke up into static that would not hold.