light

Light that makes the cars stand up like teeth. Light that drools over their windows. Light that smells stale, lays down in solid blocks beside the solid length of afternoon. Light on the willow tree’s branches. The tree is 30 or 40 feet tall and you could see each leaf if you looked long enough. Light that doesn’t blink. Light that melts and pools in a hard waxy white shine on catalpa leaves. Light that absorbs light, hurts to look at. Feathery bushes springing light like a leak. Light the grass scatters when the wind blows. Light that drops its shoulders when the afternoon is over, when the shadows have no structure. Monet painted nothing but light, light that held him up like bones: broken and supple, long, stippled, fractured, whole and holy.

Advertisement