Saturday, February 2, 2008
Dim light from above, checked shadows of the iron gate. The cold stone pit walls draw condensation out of the warm jungle air. Wow long have I been down here? There are signifiers marking the passing of time – food and water lowered and waste removed via bucket, the coming and going of the faint light – but I have nothing to mark the days with, and my mind has long lost track. I look again at the grid of shadow. It looks like a waffle, so I spread on butter, drizzle syrup, and take a bite. Like Mamma used to make.