Skip to content

Log Out



Audio: Read by the author. 


I am a woman unlikely to write.
The foggiest ideas come to me

malevolent and hopeless; I have
only the urge to strike them. My mind is

a dark enough place without me drawing
blood from it. But let’s suppose that there is

a spotlight waiting within the heart,
and the heart is innocent because it is

made of paper and can be cut, and the hurt
is good health. A cut would give me reason

to type. I could put my finger on the hurt;
I might like the pressure. What would come

of a paper heart made raw by the spotlight?
Or a plaster head left out in red rain?



Image depends on its subscribers and supporters. Join the conversation and make a contribution today.

+ Click here to make a donation.

+ Click here to subscribe to Image.

The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Receive ImageUpdate, our free weekly newsletter featuring the best from Image and the world of arts & faith

* indicates required