Her eyes, marble, tucked behind eyelids.
The words hit me hot,
like Aunt Pam’s old iron.
Heated up by white coals,
in the old wood stove.
Kissing my stupid lips with news,
I fell back, deaf and dumb, through the bathroom door.
Reaching out, flailing arms, back going diagonal I searched for something stable.
My numb fingers curled around the shower curtain.
With each pop of the rings snapping I descended deeper into chilled, darkness.
Four months later and I’m still there.
Ice cold water splashing out from the shower, it’s repelled by my body and it drops to the floor.
Maybe I’ll slip and join him when I get out.
Among the deceased belongings that they leave behind are clothes. These possessions are usually passed down or sold. Garments seem so intimate, worn against the life filled body and move through the day to day life with the soul. They are an expression of style and shell for the body and soul. Shifting the cape’s context to an image I doubt the wearer ever imagined yet keeping intact itss origin through black and white nostalgic photography creates a synthesis and discourse that I feel is common in things left behind.