It’s one of those lamps with energy bulbs,
serpentine in style, rainbow shades. A living room wall
becomes a thunderstorm. In the kitchen, features are
stark and aged, a focused camera angle. Food looks stale,
unappetizing. My mother tells me to watch my weight-
the fluorescence does it for me.
The bathroom is the most unpleasant yet bet lit room.
Akin to a doctor’s exam room, where Father tells me
not to cry or he’ll be disappointed.
Hallways are lit narrow passages. I see towers of
dark stairwells, vertical. Waterspouts, looming over doorways
until you reach the end of the vortex.
My bed is centered below a ceiling fan, a spotlight on me. I lie
and wait for my mother to say goodnight. Father is in the bathroom,
(Written in January/February 2010)