Spring 2017
There’s a warm, harsh light in the greenhouse today. It brings the heat to my cheeks and makes me squint my eyes. Some light blinds or interrogates but this is light that grows things. It stretches a big morning stretch all over me like a pet or a child or a body of water. It dangles feet over my eyelashes.
Lately I have this image in my mind of a smudge. It’s on the right side of my field of vision and at first it’s like I think it’s something on my eyes I could rub away, and then it’s like I could reach out and wipe it away. But I can’t. It turns out the smudge is just on everything, and can’t be removed. Even what’s perfectly beautiful has the smudge. It’s homesickness and distance and the difficulty of change, I think.
rolluptotheclubselfdestruct 
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