ArtWrite 8/8: Sylvia Sleigh

His face belongs on a wall in the Uffizi, so I focus instead on the ease with which his stomach muscles support his back. It’s not his nakedness that makes me uncomfortable. It’s how his stillness magnifies my ungainliness.

I’m frazzled and spewing apologies as my luggage bangs against the doorframe. My hardshell suitcase suddenly seems absurd, an obvious indication of my trust issues. If I could just throw my clothes into something woven and pliable, I bet I wouldn’t be single.

-- Maggie Levine

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