Night Fall

I tiled the kitchen wall after staring at it for a year and saying I would. My fingertips pruned from the
mortar. I thought I would feel better as though I accomplished something finite. Instead, now the floors
and other walls look dingy and need paint.
The wind ripped branches off of the trees in the back yard while we slept. Young limbs wrapped in bright
green leaves grinning with spring. Lying on the bricks motionless with the air whipping above.
My mind feels tender as though it might leak. With any pressure, tiny parts could collapse.
Maybe I would forget my life up until this moment. Perhaps my legs and arms would lay down next to the
branches or the sound of the whipping would drown completely. Replaced by a thudding pulse.
My thoughts stack up on both sides like stiff lining holding a crown. Remembering words like clues.
The shadows of leaves dancing on the curtains that I can still see when I close my eyes. The light’s warm
glow right before it goes and the slow afternoon chirps of one bird. One by one. The day is finished ready
or not. Without a plan or exhaustion, I feel lost in the sadness of the leaving light. Wait for me, I say to no
one. I’m not ready to fall or break again.

Kate Sterlin is a photographer and writer who currently lives in Los Angeles, CA. Her photographs have most recently been featured in the New York Times and Vogue Magazine. She is working on a book of photographs and stories for publication in 2024.