spectrum
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Tonight, I’m the loneliest I’ve ever been.
It’s been a week since our conversation (if you can call it that) about snow. How it must be cleared quickly no matter how we feel about going out. Today, I saw myself in screens, reflected in their dark glass. Spectral, like an idea when really I wanted to be bloody. They told me to write you without emotion. They said, tell him explicitly what you need. What came out: Concentrate all your energy at the rims of our openings. Paragraphs, like marriages, begin in certainty and end in spectacle: Part metal, part bird. I open and close your mouth like my hand was inside you. Tuesday I gave you the letter. I hear our daughter waking up. She calls out for me, and I get her. In the morning, the light went through the house, lit every surface, like the house was an ear tilted toward the dawn, like it was trying hard to listen. |
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Lindsay Illich is the author of Rile & Heave (Texas Review Press, 2017) and the chapbook Heteroglossia (Anchor & Plume, 2016). Rile & Heave won the Texas Review Press Breakthrough Prize in Poetry. She teaches writing at Curry College in Milton, Massachusetts.
Laurence Hervieux-Gosselin was born in Montreal, Quebec. She studied scriptwriting and communications at Université du Québec à Montréal and has a BFA in Photography from Concordia University. She is currently an MFA candidate in Art Photography in the College of Visual and Performing Arts at Syracuse University. In 2018, she was a finalist for the Scotiabank New Generation Photography Award, and in 2014, she was a finalist for the Ideastap Photographic Award with Magnum Photos. Her work has been exhibited at Uqbar (Berlin, 2018), La Castiglione (Montreal, 2018), Burrard Arts Foundation (Vancouver, 2017), Monash Gallery of Art (Melbourne, 2017), dnj Gallery (Santa Monica, 2016), and The Old Truman Brewery (London, 2014).