Every morning she’s photographed waking up in another position.
Monday: Splayed, and mouth gaping like a union soldier
Tuesday: Crouching as if about to jump from a frosted cake
Wednesday: Collapsing into herself like Jack Ruby being mortally wounded
Thursday: Breaking into bits of birds
This morning she woke like Ophelia with her hair fanned out and floating, hands folded; and last week there’s a picture of her
knees tucked up, fingers curled against her cheek
as if making a desperate phone call to consciousness