brighton beach
The light was yellow as if in a dream. It came to me and I knew. I knew then that things are never going to change - never do change, really. In spring we watched the ducks and moor hens nurse their young, the pale light slant over the green pond, in the suncurve there was a presence that I clung to. Living in a home without windows has led me to believe that I will never take the sunlight for granted. Windows are a way out, I spend a lot of time dreaming. I am always impelled to write in the midst of great change. You see, I was under a spell, this will be ugly but I need to do it, the hideous cries out like a bell; 'you hurt! you hurt! you hurt!' In my dream I have skin like a cloud, I am carrying the trauma of my mother and my mother's mother in the pit of my stomach. I let go in the morning and the light is grey. The light we have come to know is fluorescent, the glare of the screen, of the flickering bar. I think that the mystery of electricity lingers, when it fir