I don’t know what it means. I wish I could tell you.
I heard it when I was a small child of preschool age.
It sounded like a dim radio frequency in a language
I couldn’t understand.
It came to me when I was deep in solitary play
building villages with boxes and blocks.
I never told anybody.
As a child, I spoke it when I was angry.
My parents didn’t know what to think.
It was not familiar. They never told anybody.
Now I paint it.
I asked my mother, “Is this OK, can I write about
this now, is it the truth?” She said, “yes”.
Somewhere deep in my genetic code these images are not dormant.
I’m not sure why.