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ARCHIVE -- CHARGEUSSE

FIRST ISSUE
FALL 2011

SECOND ISSUE
SPRING 2012

THIRD ISSUE
SPRING 2013

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Solidus Online



Jenelle D'Isidoro

Hopper

The walls were barricaded with sunlight, save
for the corners where inhabited were the ever sharp
shadows, a dark army in collision with the afternoon blaze.
My face was bleached by the same source,
and I wore nothing but crumpled sheets, chapped lips
and the light that wrapped itself around me;
it was like some sort of Hopper piece,
a morning of casualties, a morning of
art and solar remedies.

I painted pictures on the ceiling above:
cave drawings, figures holding hands and even baby figures.
They darted across the canvas ceiling, dancing together.
And soon, color appeared, purples rich, and yellows lush
with a melancholy blue; they finally faded
and left a waxy mark, becoming a memory, a stain,
while leaving behind that forsaken blank canvas
even blanker than the darkness of my lids sealed shut.

I never wanted to move, I never wanted to explore
the sudden cold side of the bed, its existence is so improper.
And I knew why those girls in those pieces have a
mysterious frown; for one reason or another, they’re alone
in a room full of war,
a room where peace left no trace on the bleached walls,
the sunlight was warming instead of invasive.
And the shadows changed as the hours passed,
and I was struck with thought, stuck wanting to paint but never
wanting to finish a project ‘cause I’d have to watch it vanish
like the sun, consumed by shadows; the shadows won
and celebrated by filling every nook and cranny, places light
could never willingly reach.

I lived my life by windows, then.
I basked in the sun and bleached my face by day
staring endlessly at a white ceiling with figures I invented and danced with,
little creations of a mind at twilight; I was left on the bed with no
one there other than the ever shifting shadows,
all consuming, thought evoking provocative shapes
fighting dusk with the power of nightfall.

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Jenelle D'Isidoro

is a student at Colby-Sawyer College.