Each one of us, then, should speak of his roads, his crossroads, his roadside benches; each one of us should make a surveyor's map of his lost fields and meadows. Gaston Bachelard.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Talking with Ghosts


My husband and I joke that our newborn baby sees ghosts. We watch as he stares into dusty corners, opens his eyes wide, shakes his head and forms an OH of surprise with his lips. He loves watching the white curtains blow in the bedroom, the contrast of the shadows through the window beside his change table. 

When I look at him, when I hold him, I feel like I'm on a threshold. Like he has joined us from somewhere else, come to us from the other side. In him it seems possible to see worlds gone by, places I miss, people I've lost. I imagine a small group of these people gathered around his bassinet, talking to him, preparing him, protecting him. 

This is a recording my husband made of our son sleeping and talking with his ghosts. Photo also by Yana Kehrlein.

Welcome to this world, Ulysse Walter Pierre Kehrlein. We are very happy you're here. 

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