March 19, 2020 by The Citron Review
by Samantha Steiner
My closet has no clothes.
One side: a jewelry chest, a tub of half-used nail polish, a carved Santa presiding over a tree stump.
The other side: a feather quill, a jar of stiff paint brushes, a sewing machine.
The ceiling: a scattering of pale plastic stars.
I close myself inside, and the jewelry chest, the nail polish, the Santa, the quill, the paintbrushes, the sewing machine, and my entire body vanish. Here, I am breath with eyes.
The stars give off a cool light. They appear in the mirrors hidden on the walls, the mirror on the back of the closet door. They glow through nebulae of exhale on glass.
I gaze into my reflection. Little green specks dance under my eyelashes. I stand suspended while billions of miles away, red giants burn.
Samantha Steiner is a visual artist and Fulbright Scholar. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @Steiner_Reads.