The Stranded Sugar Dispenser

we see a child 

the child sits at the kitchen table with her feet dangling just above the ground, a few inches clear of the linoleum floor 

her left arm rests on the smooth formica surface, and her cheek is pressed against the knitted sweater that extends the entire length of her arm. the woolen cuff is stretched tightly over her knuckles before she begins to force her index finger through a small hole situated just above the vertical ladder that has recently started to form there. once the feat is accomplished, she proceeds to grip the under edge of the cuff with her fingers so that her hand forms a small fist 

now and again, she brushes her chin across the knitted fabric, tempting the prickly fibers to titillate her skin

in front of her, a few centimeters away from her face, a glass container, which is almost full of sugar, stands beside a folded newspaper

she picks the container up with her right hand, tips it on its side and pushes it back and forth with her palm so that the ornamental fluting that decorates its surface digs into her soft malleable flesh. small white granules begin to trickle from its conical tip. the child runs her fingers through the stream of sugar that is steadily accumulating beneath the silver nozzle, spreading it in random patterns across the table, crushing it against the hard surface so that the resilient grains leave a temporary impression in her skin. using the fluting as a pivot, she spins the container in clockwise rotations and the tiny white particles scatter, arbitrarily, in every direction 

STOP:

we see a hand 

it’s larger than the child’s hand, and we watch the five digits unfurl like a fan, and now that the fingers are fully extended the hand hangs suspended as if suddenly frozen in time, obscuring the child whose unfocused profile recedes into the background dwarfed by the colossal size of 

the hand 

dominates the foreground, its crisp outline magnified against the bright light, drawing our attention to the intricate network of raised veins protruding beneath the dorsal surface of 

the hand

interrupting the otherwise smooth appearance of the flesh cladding the rigid fingers, the tips of which are bleached by the bright light that traces a translucent line around the edge of the outstretched hand as it looms in mid-air doing nothing, a multitude of potential gestures imminently pending

START:

plunging down toward the seated child, tensed fingers snatching, an indivisible hand/child/chair continuum sliding through the unsorted noise, driving forward toward the

open

door

slams shut

unsettled by the brusque exit the abandoned chair capsizes, colliding with the table, it shudders as it hits the floor

and the light presses through the unwashed window dusting the table with a grainy patina that burnishes the girth of the marooned sugar dispenser as it skitters haphazardly across the table, clipping the folded newspaper then veering off toward the outskirts of the table where it stalls, now teetering precariously at the beveled edge, then retreating

and the light presses through the dust covered window dissolving the outline of 

the stranded sugar dispenser 

is perched once more at the beveled edge, hesitating, then withdrawing, again and again, ever so slowly fading into the dwindling light

Imogen Reid completed a practice-based PhD at Chelsea College of Arts: her work has appeared in Hotel, LossLit, gorse, Zeno Press, Elbow Room, Sublunary Eds, and The Babel Tower Notice Board. She has chapbooks with Gordian Projects, Nightjar Press, & Timglaset.