Freedom’s gates

Here in Lynn, it is quiet, familiar and strange at once. To return to one’s home after a long marriage is not merely a dislocation, but a translocation: A genetic shift, in a sense, resulting in not-quite-formation. Asher is with me, and Anala when she does not play at Lyria’s or with Aden. I plan my new home but there is no hurry. I wish it be built to last, so I take the time.

Out in the flesh there is this younger son. Just now he is next to me, learning the game that things may be removed from the basket. He still requires some aid, not to mention legs for the sitting, so I keep the eye on him, but I let him come to it on his own. We have played vigorously and well earlier in the day, or at least he has with others, and now I fancy he enjoys a little thought to himself. He is a child who is cheerful until he is not: He goes from smile to shriek with no frown in between, but there is never any doubt as to his frame of mind.

…and now it is later, and he lies on my chest to fall to sleep. The naps today are not good because the zoo camp interfered with the first, but he slept well the last night and with luck it will come right.

Beneath all the mothering, this self that did not exist before San, I feel myself pacing like a panther. It is true, what Ahren said: Celibacy (the sort for I myself) is difficult for me and it adds tension across my back, down through my arms to my hands and fingers where I long to claw at flesh. The urge to hunt and to strike, to drag one down in sex and bite and tear and perhaps to bury a blade is fierce.

Once I listened to a podcast about a gorilla raised by humans. She was returned to the wild with a student of theirs. The student lived in the cage for some time, and the gorilla tried to get back inside, for the easy food, the toys, the comfort. Eventually the gorilla learned to live in the wild. But if I recall correctly, hunters came, and she, having learnt to trust humans, was killed.



About Jenn

Find me on Twitter @JennGruden
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