Indelicacy

by Amina Cain

Why did I get so dressed up when no one would see me? It is better that way, to give fancy things to my writing and my own mind and my ramblings, better than wasting them on people I don’t like, and their formal, grand rooms, while it snows outside. All of the fascination out there, away from where we are sitting.

In every painting, someone or something emerges. I emerged here into the country. I emerged walking along these dull streets, close to my own mind and what I know of life. Close to my blind spots, my limitations as a person, the limits of what I can perceive, at least for now. I am deeply flawed.