From the day
Perspective: The Future Historian · Tactile
The rough tactile grain of my Raggedy Ann’s cotton pinafore offers a small comfort while Father marvels at the New York sunlight caught in a translucent dish of Pyrex glass. He speaks of the miracle of the transcontinental telephone call, yet his voice trembles with the news of sonar pulses cutting through the deep, a technology destined to haunt the very sea. It is truly over the top how we celebrate these mechanical triumphs while the news from Mexico smells of famine and gun oil. I thumb the coarse embroidery of my doll’s heart, wondering if the men seeking power across the border ever yearn for the simple softness of home.