Tag: Paula Rego
Wasp-waisted island off the coast of Maine. The point in the afternoon where the heat has gathered itself up in folds. Independence Day, which feels, this year, like a sour joke. I’ve stolen away to the third floor of the old, expansive house where we are staying. To write, I have a blunt pencil and a notebook, ostensibly mine, though seventy-percent full of patriotically-colored maps, courtesy my older son. The maps are loop-de-loops, whorls. Not recognizably places, though mostly contiguous. The fury within me — it might, if I tried to draw it, look like these maps. Or it might be a scrawl that builds upon itself until the off-white page becomes inexorably minked, along with the pinky edge of my hand.