By | 1 May 2021

“The Philippines – Marikina City residents on Friday tried to salvage what is left of their homes after severe floods
spawned by Typhoon Ulysses subsided, sifting through mud-caked appliances and cars.” (

Shirts we’ve long grown out of. That
first radio my father brought home
one rainy evening. Broken mobile phones
kept in the drawer. Or a crumbling photo
from a high-school class pictorial. We hoard

these commotions and bring in new ones
to push back the dark. If the clouds can
be pocketed we all would, the sky ransacked
to an empty blue, the rain relenting
for a moment to allow us to clear the mud.

When all’s said and done, what to some
may be trash, to most are just things:
pure, simple things they own, that they’ve
got. Just like our hands before we invented
fire. A latch, a knob, a frame from a neighbor’s
window in the caking murk. The Turk writer

Mehmet Murat Ildan said we must go visit
castles in the fog because they hold
the extraordinary dreams. It’s true: we all
enter old places in our waking. But here
it’s often either to start sweeping the ground
or to run up to the topmost floor.

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