By Caroline White
Featured Art: “Untitled” by Josiane Kouagheu

but, like an outlaw, that does not just   make it
disappear: the act of searching,   of hunting
down becomes something   like adoration—
riding on horseback   through the night only to
catch a glimpse   of him, to describe again the
color   of his hair. And so with two hands   on
the roller we sealed in the lead paint   with the
boombox in the center of the room,   the disc
gliding around and around like Saturn’s ring.
My father painted wide   and calculated
stripes. The room felt   special when it was
empty, like a museum—   our voices touched,
echoing into   each other. This is how it feels
to be the first figurines in the snow globe
before they drown you. Before the snow   falls
and won’t stop falling. It was a soft   green. I
was painting flowers and leaves   and then
they were sinking into the rest   of the paint,
hidden; the lead, layers   away from us and
dormant. Sealed off   like unspeakable
memory, somewhere   deep in there, the tiny
flecks staining   a ripped sweatshirt. I have
lost   so much inside myself. I have forgotten
what music was playing.

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Caroline White is a recent graduate of UNC Greensboro’s MFA program, where she currently serves as a lecturer in English.