Weekly Skylights: The Tripod Looks to the Clouds

3 min read

Joey Cifelli ’23

Arts Editor

February 22, 2022, Part 1 (Pictured)

It was easy for Michael to see his friends on the bed through the slits in the closet door. But they could not see him. Theo was sitting on the edge of the bed facing him. Next to Theo was Sarah. That was the problem for Michael. They were all friends, but Theo and Sarah were about to become more than friends. Michael had been waiting for it to come all day, yet it sat there looming on the horizon like a dark storm cloud. Sarah whispered something in Theo’s ear that Michael couldn’t hear. Theo’s shoulders bobbed up and down as he laughed in soft tones. Bands of light and shadows fell on Michael’s face as he watched. The closet was quiet and dusty. Sweat pooled in the sleepless creases of his eyes. Theo’s hand lay splayed on the ruffled bedsheet, tense with desire. Sarah’s hand found its way beside it. A film of air separated the two bodies. A film the size of the universe. 6.5/10

February 22, 2022, Part 2

Prinerell the master waxsmith studied his creation. An apprentice walked into the room, carrying boxes of tools. A sub-apprentice stumbled behind him, struggling with several dripping tubs of wax. A cat followed the sub-apprentice, amused. “Oh my,” said the apprentice, setting the tools down on a workbench. “This is the one, Olive,” said the waxsmith, “yes, I do believe this is the one.” The sub-apprentice, who had started two weeks ago, looked up from his crouched resting position. “Whassat?” he asked. “Shut up,” said Olive. “No, it’s fine,” said Prinerell. The old man continued, “do you know what a homunculus is, Tobey?” “Oh yeah, they give me the creeps. My Ma says they’re filled with devil souls.” Prinerell smiled with sad eyes. “Your mother is misguided, but she is right to be wary. At its core, a homunculus is a constructed human. Here I’ve made one out of wax.” Tobey looked up at the translucent, slightly cloudy body. A thick cord of rope ran through the homunculus from head to heel. “What happens when you light it?” he asked. “That is a very good question, Tobey. We are about to find out.” 7.1/10

February 23, 2022, Part 1

I sink this brutal, broken base.
The double smiles of your face
make vast holes in outer space,
held within our fast embrace,
captured in a pearl of place,
the joke which laughs and
the game that plays,
stitched into your satin lace
my dream of falling from
your grace
makes every moment alive
erase.

7.3/10

February 23, 2022, Part 2

The chill of summer. The bone-blackening heat of winter nights. The luscious fall and the dying spring. There’s a boardwalk funhouse I walked into last week. I fell inside the mirror’s wavy surface and came out the other side. When I turned around my normal self stared back at me and laughed. I thought he looked so strange then; he looked so plain. I walked outside and felt the warmth of the moonlight tighten my skin. The dunes rolled off into the horizon. People sat on blankets in the canal and watched their children play. There was no noise but the quiet shuffling of sand grains. I saw the sun far away in the white sky, small and dim like a marble. On the other side of the mirror I watched my distortion walk away. I laughed for my own sake. What does he see with such warped eyes? 7.8/10

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