When my father tells the story

He starts as usual with an all too believable detail – potting seedlings in the washbasin at the end of the kitchen. His ankle itches. He warms you up to this by moving his body in a vertical shiver. He runs it from his head to the part of his leg where it happened. He has an insect that he rouses from somewhere inside him. If he knew he had it in him, he would call it ‘a keeper’. But he doesn’t know that the insect is what makes him a storyteller.


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