Features
Murmurs : A Q & A with Cameron Barnett
Pericardium
Reprinted with the permission of the author and Autumn House Press
A friend reminds me that a pulse is worth believing in ; Mother feels the advice sink in miles away , whispers this
had better hold . I don ’ t begrudge her prayers — to give the world a child with no safety nets designed for him , only a cat ’ s cradle of
son and survival , tangled thread . What could be more broken ? A space exists between heartbeats especially vulnerable to fatal misfire ;
son and father meet here , our shadows holding hands , squeezing some . Who would have thought ? Lacuna matata . May we never forget mothers
grew big with windows and mirrors for us to break into telescopes , to live into our hearts ’ deep paradiddles and electric logarithms . We need only
the murmur of ribs among one another to remember . We need only listen to echoes of the cracked spine of unrequited history speaking of what to bury :
of long ghosts and their misfires ; of a blood and bones manhood .
FALK LABORATORY SCHOOL | UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH 7