Snorky’s brown belly and back end are married together by a band of hamster white. His whiskers twitch and his tiny hands fondle food like Play-doh.
This morning I found Snorky curled into a frozen smile.
I will bury him in the sandy cemetery below the clothesline where our underwear already hangs in sad-mouthed shapes.
(Some childhood memories dig in like hamsters on spinning wheels-my siblings and I had quite a sandlot)
just stepped up the little stairs to reach his steering wheel. This vehicle is not required for his line of work. My studio, a converted porch, faces his yellow house, his big truck. My home, rising during the Great Depression, has withstood many assaults over time. Her old bones don’t deserve to be rattled.
The sky is bright, the birds are singing, and every morning the man across the street shatters this peaceful illusion. His truck’s reverb frazzles the neighborhood, echoes through my chest. Maybe the man across the street needs the sleepy world agitated at 5:45 AM, maybe tremors make his shadow grow.
If someday he should acknowledge the next phase of life, I pray he doesn’t buy a bigger truck. I don’t want to become another person in this burning world who adds more noise to the hate. I dislike the man across the street. I do not hate him. I will admit, however, to hating his fucking truck.
I painted this a few months ago. Reference taken from a photo of Chris Lee as Dracula. Thought this image was somewhat fitting for this piece:)
I hope you’re all keeping cool.
am:)
My studio runs parallel to a quiet side road that springs to life when school lets out. Watching the kids leap into summer often makes me think back. Long ago, but ever present, the silly girl who I’d like to smack in the head.
image above – me in my early 20’s – ah, the makeup-less, cover-up less time of long ago:)
hope you’re all managing the heat
am:)
anntogether 