EROSION

I'm holding my right arm while being diagnosed.

The woman with the good posture called me into her office and said the man with the forked tongue would no longer be attending my class. She said the man with the forked tongue demanded an increase in his medication and if refused there’d be a slight possibility of harm to others, that it was quite possible he’d “catch a new case”.  The woman with the good posture saved his kites (correspondence letters) where he wrote about how he would no longer be responsible for his actions due to the lower dosage of medication.

I told the woman with the good posture that I never had any problems with the man with the forked tongue; in fact, he and I had conversed daily about his childhood and the special education he had received, that I had learned the Orton-Gillingham reading approach and he, as a child, had learned how to write and read using this method. “The key concepts,” I explained to her, “are to form letters and words in a sandbox and sound it out.”

I know nothing regarding the mental health issues of the man with the forked tongue (he says he burned down a Michigan State Police Post); but I do know that the tactile approach of manipulating sand must have improved his ability to communicate on paper. His kites must have conveyed his sense of urgency regarding his condition, his state of mind, because now he is gone, his message diluted, scattered to the wind as he sits in segregation, waiting for his bus ride to another correctional facility.