screen

i wish you could see the way our tattered, ripped screen hangs and sways in the wind right now. i think it has ripped more and more over the years, because i’ve never noticed it like i do today—shards hanging and bending and bowing and dancing gently in every direction. as we prepare to move into a new home, a new construction, new everything, i want to remember this ripped screen and the faded white, chipped wooden window frame propped open by a large vase, letting in a breeze. we will leave this apartment because we can’t afford to fix it.
i tried to take a picture but it didn’t really come out. my eyes see the ripped screen much bigger than my camera, which sees things objectively. the eye zooms, just like the ear filters.

walking on a beach in hawai'i with my friend nick, he prepared me for the sudden appearance of a grounded ship just off the shore of ‘shipwreck beach’ on lanai. “but,” he said, “i should warn you that it doesn’t photograph well.” and he explained that the eye zooms, but the camera sees things objectively. so the ship looks huge in person, but tiny in a picture. and he reminded me that we hear this way, too. filtering and prioritizing. i’d never really thought of that.

i wish you could see the way our tattered, ripped screen hangs and sways in the wind right now.