Ryan Clinesmith



I linger in my childhood apartment. For the first time, I notice that the painting in the bathroom
hides a white aproned shape behind a screen door. A face hidden in mesh and watercolored
darkness. A crow is cawing in the courtyard, it says, “Show me, show me.” Once mother hid
between the bathroom door and the painting during hide’n’seek. I couldn’t find her for the
longest time. If only then the door to the bathroom was meshed like this painted one. “Come
out!” I say nose length to the painted silhouette, and still can’t find a face.