Intruder
I didn't eat the food in your refrigerator or turn on the spigot, or track mud through the hallway. I wouldn't do that.
I went through your art books and attached paper clothes to photographs of naked ladies. Sometimes also I covered their eyes.
To one I gave mittens—she looked cold. The cracker-box girl had a shadowy face. She looks back to the 19th century. I put her in a boxy suit jacket with concealed buttons.
I adorned one blonde bomber with a diamond necklace. No glue smudges—I used stick office notes. Surrealists can be such peep-holes.
A cerain double exposure blends body with hand. One droll hand reaches out from a shell. Some round and flat breast-laid table tops I dressed in checkers, like in Italian restaurants.
Also I took away for myself a few unobvious items. You'll see but it may take you awhile. I did not leave you this note.
Copyright © Valerie Fox 2007 - 2008