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   s n a p s h o t s    (o n e    w o m a n)

---   C H A R L E S   C O L E M A N   F I N L A Y  


security cameras installed behind

her eyes. the cracked windshield she doesn't fix until she doesn't

notice it. the day spent shopping in the strip centers and the mall, until at the grocery, she finds herself

confused in frozen foods clutching bags of baby peas, corn nibblets, searching for the list where she'd written down her three wishes


always choosing american cheese

as a model for experience, each slice bland and individually wrapped in

plastic. in the shower she jokes that the water running off his penis makes it look like he's peeing and

he better not. but even when he's drying off it drips drips it drips and she reaches into the medicine cabinet for a cream to treat her


yeast infection. the painful discharge

one day, an eruption of rash words screamed at him, complete repeating

the rumors of imagination, a cat stretches on a coffee table book left lying open on the floor, licking

its limbs and smothering reproductions of Klee. his feet shuffle on the cheap rug while her hands flutter around her mouth to light another cigarette


a butterfly carved out of ice. the

bathroom sink clogged. clumps of hair and soap scum. a fumbled ring choking

the drain. bills in both names. rental truck full of furniture. a phone number where she can reach him, an office

in some suburb of her mind, a night clerk alert at the desk of her senses when she sleeps who watches him lie, dialing 911 on a Fisher-Price phone

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