
ALT The Second Law of Thermodynamics I have been told the past is another country. We acknowledge the traditional custodians of this land but that has passed, and we will decide who comes to our country. We will determine the circumstances in which they come. Я расскажу вам, как Неруда, все известия. (I’ll tell you, like Neruda, all the news.) We were the rats from the sinking ship and countless maps and atlases crumbled at our heels. We fled irretrievably. The plane was grey and everybody slept except the child to whom it meant nothing that the past is another country. We learned to do things differently. Their bottomless supply of gadgets seduced my father. My mother mastered the language which is now my language, my stepmother tongue, just well enough to pass it on to still more rats abandoning still more lurching wrecks of history.

ALT Now in tall bldngs my fathers mother with the decisive manner of a soviet gynecologist dishes out advice & criticism & red soup &a brownskinned woman in a dented much-vandalised lift tells me about her dog A rescue staffy, “shes my life. If I didnt have her I think I’d just go mad.” An ex-runt named 4 her big funny ears in a language thats cobbled 2gether from scraps by whoever survived the past in this country My mothers hobbledmother speaks so little English that I genuinely do not know if she’s aware that our new country 2, inescapably inescapably our new country is a childstealer also u no, in the past when it was defnitely another sort of country Betwn any now&then is continuity enough for apology but not enough to give any1’s life back anymore than the frozen step of Magadan could return my greatgrandmother’s teeth 2 her jaw while she lived, unsling times arrow 2 undo that daughterless decade or undisappear her husband. But that was in another country &besides the regime is dead.

ALT They all r What cuntry? Time immemorial we drew lines in blood &we redrew lines in blood like an indecisive tattoo artist &my ppl were the needle &my ppl were the ink &so were urs When ur ancestors lived somewhere every1 wanted a piece of &sooner or later thats everywhere ur ancestrs r also the ppl who took their peace over&over again back&back &u wonder y the rats claw @ ur door? Rats r the natural state of humanity Rats no which way the wind is blowing &it is blowing relentlessly out of the past &in2 the future But we live in a shortsighted cuntry Our books begin just1 short subjugation back &our maps r crisp new liars &sometimes ppl hear me speak &want 2no where I’m from which is the same place they r from becuz the past is anothr cuntry &what used to be my cuntry is now reassembling itself like flecks of glass in a kaleidoscope &in the city of my birth the same red soup is eaten by less freckled childrn whose language is almost but not quite intelligible to me&my grandmothers.

























