Painting a One-Night Andrew Romriell First Place Undergraduate
“She is solid. As for me, I am watercolor. I wash off.” —Anne Sexton, “For my lover, Returning to His Wife.” Anonymity is key— the lifeblood of the culture. Beauty in non-solidity. Doorbells that ring like knocks on wood invoke the protection of nature and God and latex. If only. Breathing,
I cry myself a martyr, a product of my time. Of my people. Rather, I am a watered color.
I am a sweet aroma of peach skin. A color of pale blue pillowcases and pink sheets; a rainbow spectrum of faded pigments that leak beside creaking, groaning, shifting lights and walls.
And then I am gone—slipped away to the click of a brass lock. I assure myself, I know what this was.
I know I am watercolor. I so easily wash off.
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