47.2 - Spring 2018

Page 117

capable of being. Even now, breasts filled out and dusky rose lipstick applied, he still has this conception of a son he never had, as if he’s keeping it under glass. Or maybe under agate, flecked with mica. I could never remember what he tried to teach me about marbles. I could never remember which materials reveal and which materials occlude. A pane of glass can be a false transparency, the scene lying beyond it staged, an artifice. The Midwest is perhaps best defined as a museum exhibit.

SPRING 2018

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