14 November 2012, Documenting Space

 

I never sent Angie that image of three euphoric women- wet bodies reaching out from the sea. A Secret History of Women and Tattoo and The Dinner Party on Judy Chicago sit above Pamela's letter boxes that share a window sill with a white necklace, mason jars holding dead candles, and a photo of seagulls flying out of azure blue water. The filament in that bulb is exposed and brilliant; thin branches coil together outside. A bird draws a circle that who-knows-why kindles my memory toward images of blood-stained clothing piled on church pews. In odd simultaneity I remember the ecstasy of digging my hands into garden dirt last summer. Does that hot pink scribble on my painting function next to the letters? How is Cyndi before her performance? An abrupt car noise halts my thoughts; an invisible something tickles my foot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The kettle is screaming.