Then Go On

Selected Prose. Litmus Press, 2012

Available from Small Press Distribution

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"The mind at work in Mary Burger's Then Go On is by turns exacting, passionate, tuned in to matters of scale as well as the functional paradox ('It is possible she was one of those who could steer the correct course only when she believed navigation was impossible'), and wholly unremitting in its drive to 'verify the veracity of perception.' Reading Then Go On has me reconsidering my notions of what certain surfaces—that of a person, a social identity, a piece of writing—can be."  —Anselm Berrigan

 

 

 

His Wrist
from Then Go On

His wrist was not like me.  His wrist was part of him and where he went his wrist went with him.  I could know his wrist but not the way he did.  I had attachment to his wrist.  His wrist was like a movie.  Like a movie I could touch.  Between my thumb and fingers.  His wrist was not transparent, it wasn’t like a movie that way.  It reflected light.  It moved in space and time, it was a movie that way.  When the space and time in which I saw his wrist was gone, his wrist was gone.  That’s the way it was a movie.  It existed when I looked at it.  When I couldn’t see it it was memory.  An image in my mind.  Just like a movie.

A wrist that didn’t know it was.  What does a wrist know?  He knew that he had one, he knew that he had two.  If they were missing he’d be gone.  His wrists would never leave without him.