The Annals of Agony: Keeping the Dances of the Disappeared

An essay on how the body remembers what we struggle to find in words

In the annals of agony, most fall silently. As we finished the last of the white wine after Sinead’s friend up from Kerry went to bed, it happened again. The moon touched houses lightly and lay across recently cut fields while I sunk again to the place of forgetting, and Sinead remembered everything. When understanding man-made misery, it helps to be th…