All that’s alive has a scream. All that’s alive has a song
too. All that’s alive has a scream.
All that’s alive has a scream, but it’s not certain that
it’s audible. In the cold spring it lies along the field like a
needle through everything. Then one sees it. And in summer out
in the open there can be screams in the grass, for there’s something
that just can’t stand it.
Humans have screams.
When a human allows her scream to be heard, one wonders: Where
did that scream come from? Where did she get it from? Just now she was
standing here brushing her hair. It didn’t look as if she was
thinking of screaming. It looked as if she was thinking of going out and
buying some food or flowers.
But a scream came out.
It was a very old scream.
No one had heard it before. Others who had lived with her
for decades had never heard this scream before. It forced its way
out of her throat like a rusty harpoon. It smashed
a trinket with two cherubs and disappeared through
the open window.
Afterwards she sat down at the table and ate fruit yoghurt.
She seemed spent but not subdued. Had she actually
We didn’t want to ask. We looked at each other in amazement but
couldn’t get ourselves to ask.