Rachel Finkelstein :: Untitled I

Some say square, but really, the walls are longer, maybe a little rectangular, maybe that doesn’t matter, but in classic proportions it has four sides, a top, and a bottom, and all four sides lead in all four directions—the top leads directly in all four directions to all four sides and the bottom remains, the bottom leads directly in all four directions to all four sides and the top remains—all of these things have four sides, all of the things in this sequence are eternally in motion from both directions, hollowing these walls, painting the grain over and over—I’m in this room, it is my place, it is my only place, there are objects here and they are my objects—plates, bowls, knives in their drawers, coffee from the coffee maker, cereal in the dustpan, air freshener from its cardboard box—“sweet breath of the universe.” I’m standing in front of a window. Beyond it, there is air/space. Lying on the sill is a dried out wasp; so tiny, my fingers darken the glass.


This piece also appears in print.