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The Box
Jared Povanda
In Central Park, the Sculptor built a box. He hammered down the floor,
then the walls, and then the ceiling. A perfect cube, big enough to fit a
man if he curled inside. The Sculptor, satisfied, left the box on the
grass and immediately forgot why he had wanted to build it in the first
place.
After a few hours, a mother and her son approached the box. She believed
she was Cameron Diaz in The Holiday. Not like Cameron, but
actually Cameron. It was a problem. She had named her son Jude after Jude
Law. This was more of a problem. Cameron and Jude knocked on the box,
tried to tip it over, succeeded, shrugged, and went on their way.
Days later, a mime sat atop the box and, fingers running tears down his
face, died of heart attacks for tourists from noon until four in the
afternoon. When the heat became too much, he gathered up his money,
lowered himself from his makeshift stage, and took a bow for the
squirrels.
Then came the boyfriends. After witnessing the perfection of the box, one
packed his bags in the middle of the night and left what was once love
behind. The other man returned the next day and took a match to the box.
The box burned to nothing and no one cared, but at least the arson was
closure.
The Sculptor, now bundled up for winter, stood where he believed he had
placed the box and built another. Halfway through, he finally remembered
the why of it, the reason for his art, and laughed at himself. He embodied
his own cliché. When he finished, tools packed, this new box
silent in the snow, he walked off with a whistle. People never could leave
well enough alone.
.
Jared Povanda has had work in Pidgeonholes, HAD, Cheap Pop, Maudlin House and
others. He's from upstate New York.
Read his postcard.
W i g l e a f
09-23-22
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