PANA

          sketch by Iulia Pana  I twist the storyline on a spindle. I place dots with a red-reflecting marker every yard of the way my turmoil is a scarf waving happy birthday dragged through rooms where I live-exist. a stream of light enters them through a hole my child changes this into a happening I am surrounded by reinforced concrete – the prefab holes are filled with washable ineffable truths I feel my left lung like a white sponge my right lung, carbon black the spindle accidentally caught a lock of blonde hair that is dangerous the child sees it and blocks the hole with a brick made of silly-putty "Mommy, you're a Pharaoh in a pyramid'' sounds walk down the pipes and tubes, the veins and jerry cans traversed by debris and fluids I use something tasteless like my saliva to wipe out scribblings on the walls they are hard to erase and appear on my skin – on my arms stained with reflecting r