The girl does not levitate, it's the chair. Harvested from sacred sycamore baptized by woodworker's blood varnished by grandmothers' and great- great- great's grips, the chair waited until science learned to see long, if not deep before flaunting its truth during the daguerreotype. Lifting the girl was a Newtonian accident. Though the apple of her father's eye, the girl has no magic has no ideas, even, when we argue how or whether to keep the furniture anchored. Thus we duck, at the mercy of this inconvenient miracle, this unfortunately lofty chair.
March 25th, 2015