I float in my mom’s quilt while the sticky saccharine sun
flows through the blinds until the moon
begins to cut through the day
but the room is still soupy
and the air wraps around me like toilet paper on a mummy
Is eight too old to sleep in my mom’s bed?
The sun shakes yes on the horizon but the moon understands the darkness it brings And tries to shield me in the soft of its beams
But they don’t quite reach
the windows so I’m left just looking
So my mom cracks the door to her bathroom open
So there’s a yellow strip of light on the ceiling and the floorboards that stretches against the wall and halos the edges of the door
And I think if I really wanted to I could climb up it
And sit on the ridge
To dangle into a forever light
Maybe then I could blow out the sun
And it would understand the darkness too
Shadow Portrait. Cam Napier. Photography series. 2020.