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By Myself

Buried in the mattress, beneath the M train, car horns, and cat calls.

Consciousness pulled me from my reprieve.

My will, too weak to wield my body weight.

I wait.

Screeching metal, temporary refractions, covered again by a blanket of shadows.

Dishes clink, a phone rings.

There's a knock on my door,

footsteps retreat. 

Screeching metal, a disruptive glimmer, darkness tucks me in tighter. 

Abrasive voices compete with one another,

silenced by the slam of the front door and lock clicking into place. 

I take my first breath of the day. 

I gather my strength 

and the hair I shed in my sleep 

from my pillows and between the sheets. 

I suppress my stomach’s cries but tend to my split lip. 

Screeching metal, sunlight dappled in the shade during a heat wave. 

Peace approaches, loneliness arrives.

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In its physical form, By Myself is a large-scale windchime. The photos are printed on charmeuse with attached chimes hung from a suspended ring. A fan blows on the work from a distance, so the prints are in constant motion and play their own music. 

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