They kept showing up, for days, dead on the windowsill, and for days I did nothing about the ladybugs except to ask if their entering the house unnoticed and dying before I saw them was symbolic. Thinking so was easy. They symbolized birth and death, change and rebirth. It was also possible the tiny beetles embodied an inborn need to show themselves, to turn up in every and any place, even as the dried-out remains of the once lively. Or they stood for the burden of being one thing relieved by becoming another, which all the world's children suffer. This went on and on, and could've gone on forever, so finally I opened the window and blew them into the wide open because everything and everyone should get a chance to be mourned, and they got theirs, but first they had to die, which is life, not symbolism. Copyright © 2017 Hayan Charara. Used with permission of the author. |
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