Singing to the dead

“The only thing you can do for the dead is to sing to them. The hymn, the virology, the kaddish. In the ghettos, when a child died, the mother sang a lullaby. Because there was nothing else she could offer of her self, of her body. She made it up, a song of comfort, mentioning all the child’s favourite toys. And these lullabies were overheard and passed along and, generations later, that little song is all that’s left to tell us of that child…”

(Naomi in Anne Michael’s ‘Fugitive Pieces’)

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