Narrative is radical, creating us at the very moment it is being created. Or if, with the reticence of a surgeon's hands, your words suture only the places where blood might flow. Don't tell us what to believe, what to fear. Show us belief s wide skirt and the stitch that unravels fear's caul. Language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names.
Language alone is meditation.
What moves at the margin. What it is to have no home in this place. To be set adrift from the one you knew. What it is to live at the edge of towns that cannot bear your company. Tell us about a wagonload of slaves, how they sang so softly their breath was indistinguishable from the falling snow.