a question of sudden rises is an experiment in adjacency. this is an ongoing writing project that incorporates images, text as images, and images as text.
the girl is sixteen. He takes her to a dam in the disputanta woods. Rotten sunflower stalks grip her as she slides in. Mesh of fibrous dew. Across the water, a stone ledge. Things shift. He pulls her swimsuit, head underwater of her thigh. On the mossy rocks he kisses her. She feels less alone. Later, coiled around her elbow and forearm, the rope swing burns. A slow release. She plummets to the bottom. When she comes up, the wilderness is alone. Acrid air. Algae between her toes. She holds her breath.
Today will be different the woman promises. The girls climb on the train and sit on opposite side of the aisle. They each have backpacks and are sullen. It’s not light yet. No one else on the train. Neither of them talk about what happened. When the train stops they go to their hotel. They make it to the next city, but the door of their hotel room won’t lock. Up all night keeping watch. White walls. Singing city. They are exhausted. They agree to part ways. A wave runs through and releases them into the cold.
Burnt rye & bacon & I am six again. Waking up in the butterfly room. Are you my mother? She pretends she’s unable to walk & has night terrors & falls from the bed. She brushes up against the door & her skin tears & she pauses to pinch back the blood & bruises & her peony white hair. Mother, mother, oh mother. Yes? You lay down with her in the bed until her breathing slows. You sneak out of bed to watch TV its only 9pm. She doesn’t see you & stands up & walks to the TV & turns it off. You’ve been able to walk this entire time? She falls down. Her catheter comes out & you have to change it. She embarrassed. She swats at your hand. You wait until she falls asleep.
The dock is blue. The sky is blue. The lake below is blue. Fractals of black leaves and trunks and the oval iridescent moon. Fingers grasp the nape of my neck. Push away my hair. Cool breath blows the bottom of my ear. Lips whisper: do you see the horizon line? Nod my head yes. But the answer is no. Flesh of the world. Naked, the boy leaps into the water. The fishing line vibrates a circular tide. Space between self and other recedes. I toe the warm summer water. Hesitation preceded by lust preceded by fear. I cannot catch myself in time. The secret sickness chases me down.
Off train in the nearest bar, sit until no/time drinking gin. Soundlessness rubbing fingers against a velvet wall, push your cheek against his scratching voice. The terra cotta draws a hard line between us and the light. No one else here because we are in the wrong place. Return to the train and ride north. But we don’t. Pass a low mountain & emerge against the sea’s edge. Wear my t-shirt & underwear into salt water. Jellyfish everywhere. Don’t kiss. The sun dims over the bay. We walk up the terraced town. His frame casts a deep shadow over the sand. Crashing waves mask the redness. Don’t look into his eyes.