Voices on the Wind Voices of Protest
A body’s memory by Mark Vogel can be more than simple nightmare, when a boy again thin and broken reverts to habit as a fearful slow motion history in slow motion squirms, and the politics of survival trembles in an exhausted body in hot/cold panic, too aware in night cloud and mist, as if the one and only counselor attentive for so long, has been sent home, her job terminated. When old bruises linger like the first time, again colored purple and green. Then in early dawn the boy’s family stumbles again out of context a decade after they gave up rights, as an imprinted agenda feeds terror— his pores alert in leering backward horror. The touch in the dark is clammy, unreal, and the kid, shocked alert, moves on auto-pilot as the movie demands he cry out. Ahead glittering adult eyes collect in a meth-head pack. Though the right look/the right touch can help—a friendly dog that noses for affection; a substitute mother who brings comfort food— still now he shrinks to block blows, his eyes averted before the ugly waste. He is haunted, maybe for good.