by Robert McDonald
Ever since I was little I’ve been plagued by gravity and thoughts of being a planet. Please God let me wake up tomorrow as a huge gaseous object, far away from you. Let me wake up tomorrow in another solar system. The combination of being nakedly silver and my desire to travel a wobbling orbit has fueled this type of prayer and makes me consider my youthful waxings and wanings. I shall put on the jacket my dead sister gave me, the scratchy one that nonetheless glitters like stars.
This prose poem is one of a series derived and in part collaged from artistic statements from painters in New American Paintings No. 69.
Robert McDonald's work has appeared or is forthcoming in Pank, La Petite Zine, Court Green, Six Little Things, among others. He lives in Chicago, works at an independent bookstore, and blogs at http://livesofthespiders.blogspot.com.