Sara Potocsny, Diane at Dawn, 2018
Oil on canvas

Today is Diane’s birthday. She’s holding the scissors in the
moonlight, close to her hair in the mirror. She cuts and cuts, and
changes. The hair grows back. Today is Diane’s birthday. The
floor is wet. The room is filling with pink water. Today is Diane’s
birthday. Where are you now? Deep underground, there is another
house. It’s flooded. Deep underground, there’s a bottomless room,
and Diane’s hair is sinking through it. Diane walks to the window
and looks out. She is seeing her own re-flection. She is seeing
a landscape filled with marshes, spreading on forever. She is seeing
the sun rising.

I walk into the room. Diane disappears. I live and live. I wake up
from a nightmare. In the nightmare I was mourning Diane, and
then felt a shadow rising up through me, found myself shrieking,
“Diane is HERE!” I wake up from a nightmare and repeat Diane is
here, Diane is here, rubbing my throat. I climb down into a
swimming pool and paddle from one side to the other. I spend
some time in the center, paddling around.

Rainie Oet