Sunday Light and Word – Misspent Expressions



Each closed eye, each thrust back head, each wiggled hip, left a mark. We’d look for dark rooms, loud music, long nights. Drum beats made the darkness better. Pianos isolated the need for more. Daylight, that was just a place that you made due. Nighttime pushed past the shadows.

That lasts a few years. A decade. Then those early mornings where the heat has yet to establish itself, and the golden bends of the first striated rays of light concoct a leveling codex. The time is now, you think. But it changes again and again and again. Time is like that.




by Hank Cherry


Hank Cherry

About Hank Cherry

Hank Cherry works as a photographer, filmmaker and writer in Los Angeles. His work has appeared in Slake, Southwestern American Literature, Poydras Review, and The Los Angeles Review of Books and he writes a column about the history of jazz for Offbeat. He is in post production on his first full-length documentary.
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