As I take a peek outside my home office window, there’s currently no snow in Montréal, but those of us who live in this part of the world know this will likely not be the case for much longer. It’s been a relatively mild autumn so far, but with winter on the horizon, I’m having a hard time figuring out how warmly to dress. It’s not quite fall anymore, but it’s also not yet officially winter. We’re existing in a strange in-between zone.
By Katharina Mohr
Let me hide your body between words, cut you with commas, question your existence in marks. I’ll cut you from my history, so your bones echo a memory and your body is a blade whose fibres I’ll chop. This is a farewell letter.
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