for the love of the hole

October 31, 2013 § Leave a comment

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There is a hole under the city. She doesn’t know why, but she knows she must have it. If it isn’t big enough to hold all of her – both tissue and bone, she will leave what isn’t necessary above ground. She will become hollow to match this thing she loves.

It was ground water and the absence of soil that brought the two together.

 

Clay is a type of soil. It has the smallest particles of any soil. This makes it good for storing water. This makes it good for storing air. 

 

When the girl came to the city she was looking for water. She wasn’t looking for a place to breathe. It was merely by accident that she fell into the hole. The city was covered in bridges and roads. It was only the girl that could walk below the city. It was only the girl that could swallow the hole.

 

There is disagreement about how the two met, though most agree on the rose quartz and the gaze. What had been lost had been passed through. The chanting of a single word to detach tissue from skin.

 

The girl dropped the quartz into the hole. The soil lifted from the ground and the water came through.

 

It might not have mattered that the quartz had fallen into the hole, except that the quartz was part of the girl’s body. It was the place where memories are held. You see, this girl was not an ordinary girl. This girl had been under her body. It wasn’t until she stumbled into the hole that she realized she had been under the city.

 

 The city was merely a surface for the girl to fall beneath. It was a holding place. A place for people who were born to live above ground. The girl had never been one of these people. The girl was born for the hole.

 

When the hole felt the quartz, it felt the girl. But it wasn’t her body that the hole felt, it was her memory. After suffusion, the soil had washed away, and in its place was the episodic memory of a loss the girl had felt. When the quartz left her body she became the pavement that deformed the hole, and it was only from within the hole that she could access the loss. The hole would function as the girl’s frontal lobe. It would hold the quartz, under the chanting city. One word that could detach the body from the gaze – something physical and hollow, mapped by water.

 

Under the city is was magic. The pavement stopped coming through. The soil returned. It is unclear whether is was the girl or the water, but the hole remained. This was the magic of the underground. The magic of detaching up from down.

 

In a semi-circle memories were passed between unfamiliar hands. The girl dropped her memory into the hole. The hole could not remember being formed. The city had been flooded. Houses had been washed away. The hole had not formed because of the water. The hole had formed because of the girl.

 

It was the 11th of October, a first quarter moon. The girl was walking through the city. She paused to watch a child climb a statue of a wolf. The city was above water, and the girl walked under bridges to cross town. Graffiti marked the territory of a college town, “night sleep, and the stars” written in bold letters. She would walk until the ground was soft.

 

Under the city a hole was being born. The girl put the memory in the quartz and let it fall. She emptied her eyes for the hole. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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