FeatureD author: Darryl Lorenzo Wellington
A Phenomenology of strange days
"“You don’t know how to look. You don’t see.” The Picasso-of-the-Boondocks criticized his girlfriend habitually, usually while he stared at his paintings. But when she left him—believing he had kicked her out for good – and the bus swept by a wide-open field, she remembered. What he had always said. “Night. It doesn’t fall. If you look, look carefully. It rises. Gently.” He was correct. Actually. Night. The first signs were faint, gauzy and wafer thin. Darkness. Darkness springs from a mustard seed. It breaks from a pea. Six o’clock, each evening. It thickens – you know how it goes. He said, You know how it goes, when he cursed her, and then he flicked the speck from his black paint brush. He calmed down. Sorry. Sorry. You know how it goes. He pointed at her ruined blouse. The stained blouse. Her corrupted blouse probably still hung on the clothesline. Now she saw a hundred ruined blouses, hanging, the darkness rising toward the watermark."