in a strange room

Industry: brittanie sterner

in - dus(t) - (t)ry

In dust, we try. 

lime tree: bright eyes

re: Stacks: bon iver

winter dries by m.captan

first attempt at song lyrics.

(verse)

all flesh and blood
sand dunes the corners of your eyes
draped in a silver lining
come march when winter dries

they wondered why you wore that hat
the holes: a lack
a loss untracked

(chorus)

come march when winter dries
come march when winter dries

(v2)

all blood and flesh
the ball of guilt
stacked cornered in your eye
drooped with shredded linen
the collective heavy sigh

they wondered when you’d leave your den
the broken pact
you pushed it back

(chorus)

the collective breathy sigh
the collective breathy sigh

(v3)

they wondered why you tore your limbs
from sweaters made of sacks
a clapped-in guilt
the worn in quilt
a loss we left untracked

the wholes in twos
dismembered blues

and the damned unsilvered sky
a damned unsilvered sky

good friday - lyrics by cocorosie

i once fell in love with you
just because the sky turned from gray
into blue

it was Good Friday
the streets were open and empty
no more passion play
on St. Nicholas Avenue

i believe in St. Nicholas
it’s a different type of Santa Claus

family portrait by m.captan

I

Underneath the roots there’s a room for each of us. Marla sings her drums, bangs rhythm through walls. Father doesn’t listen, just taps a pen in patterns, the music is subtle but I can feel its weight, the texture of notes all flip floppy. When Marla wears her red dress, I imagine the sticks rested on wrists, their rounded ends skimming an upper thigh.

When it’s cold, her glasses fog. I rub them with my shirttail. Scratch at the scratch in the center that doesn’t budge. I hand them back gentle. She doesn’t thank me.

II

Peter senses tension & undoes it with her claws. When Peter was a kitten, she fell into a toilet full of pee water. Furious, she licked herself clean.

III

I coddled Marla’s baby to keep in the shade. The sounds it makes are crunchy, little moans and nibbles at my shirt pocket. In November, when the baby was born, Marla’s stomach squished against table tops.

She said, “This is something you won’t see come January.”

But her body hung low through July. Bread crumbs settling just above the weight. She said her belly button changed from the push,  that it was wider than the baby’s hairline.

IV

Marla does not take sugar in her tea. Marla does take sugar in her coffee. Marla does eat sugar-free ice cream. Marla does not lick the frosting off first, instead she cuts the cupcake horizon and flips the south on the north. “a whoopie cupcake!” she says. Marla does buy kit kat bars at the checkout line. Marla drinks Coke Zero. Marla does not drink orange juice but when Marla eats an orange, she picks at the peel with a raw intensity, the skin smashing into her cuticles.

V

In winter we tie belts around blankets draped on our shoulders. Dad pretends we live on mountains, drinks wine and rides the dog like a donkey. I carry Peter on my shoulders like a stole. “that cat is such a fluffy puppy!” dad whispers with oxblood eyes.

Marla builds a nest of the comforter, places the baby in the center all naked and new. The camera shudders for 50 takes until the baby yawns and she frames the shot for the family Christmas card.

VI
I do not call Marla mother because she married my dad after I was born. I do not have a mother, but rather a father who wears the pants and the apron. Marla does neither. Not a parent. More like my father’s muse, even with baby in toe, she doesn’t scold. I eat everything but peas in her presence. I don’t switch the light off when I leave the bathroom.

Dad follows me around the house, asks me if he should wear blue or green for casual Friday. I tell him to shoo, go ask Marla, and when he does, she insists he wear nothing at all.

VII
Under the black light in our basement, Marla play the drums dressed in white. Her dress is speckled from Dad’s black socks in the dryer but she bangs away. When she gets into it, her mouth drops ajar, the flicker of glow electric in her mouth.   

VIII

In the winter, we buy frozen berries. We make the house sweaty hot and suck on blueberries till we shiver. The baby’s fingers turn purple.

and on the outside, the weather whistles, a thunderclap. 

artist page.