"February 2026 issue.When I was a child I was terrifiedof the space between One and Zero vast as the ages before my birthstrait as my death-late at night I heard my parents arguinglovingly in their locked room, the angora cat coming homewith a sparrow in her mouth, and the raindrops on the shinglescounting themselves-how to sleep, how to cross the empty placebetween the name "sparrow" and that limp thing crying,adamant, creating me with its cry"
"February 2026 issue.When I was a child I was terrifiedof the space between One and Zero vast as the ages before my birthstrait as my death-late at night I heard my parents arguinglovingly in their locked room, the angora cat coming homewith a sparrow in her mouth, and the raindrops on the shinglescounting themselves-how to sleep, how to cross the empty placebetween the name "sparrow" and that limp thing crying,adamant, creating me with its cry"
A childhood fear of the space between One and Zero is presented as both vast as the ages before birth and strait as imminent death. Nighttime domestic sounds—parents arguing in a locked room, an angora cat returning with a sparrow, and raindrops on shingles—assemble into a counting chorus that questions how to sleep and how to cross an empty place. The contrast between the name "sparrow" and the limp, crying creature is foregrounded, and the creature's adamant cry is depicted as a creative, formative force that contributes to the speaker's emergence.
Read at The Nation
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