Tongue-tied you feel like a man who has lost a leg. You favor hand-loomed wool. It s the season of the herring. Seven barges float by like ghosts out of memory s past. Seven days of bridges and wooden shoes, seven days of wine and schnapps to bridge your father s silence after he lost a leg in the war.
War barges in on wooden shoes at each turn of the helm.
It s the season of the herring. Seven barges float by like ghosts. One day your voice will come back melting like sweet herring on your tongue. But now silence is the rule. Seven days of bridges and wooden shoes.