Revenants and Revisitations: Thoughts on Lisa McMann’s Cryer’s Cross

WE

Achingly close. We sense the warmth but We can’t reach it. Want. Need! Thirty-five, one hundred. Thirty-five, one hundred. We cry out to be touched, fear gripping Our scratchy voices. Fifty cold years in the darkness, boiling in regret. Come closer! We want you, more than We wanted the last.

Torturously.

Please. Save me.