Prison Rescue
by Sean Ulman
Lufa dreamt of an installation sculpture twirling in twilit sky. Mobile articles dangled from cloud sinews. A bath tub toy boat in a brown bottle, a pastel pink and yellow fishing lure, a Styrofoam Saturn with glow rope rings, a marbled beaver-gnawed driftwood log, an anvil welded down to an anchor, a contained foliage mobile (aspen coins, poplar pogs, maple lapels), the artist’s face washed featureless by frostbite, and a stuffed robin rearticulated in flight with gold wiring.
The artist dashed static strokes to spangle his solar plexus like sun-dappled sea. The robin’s wings beat to beat the band. Looking up Lufa saw mummified fingers plucking puppet strings. She heard the sword-slicing-stone call of the Varied Thrush. The artist painted a gold treble clef on the staff between him and the bird. The singing robin’s beak stayed clamped shut. Again the thrush – ‘Brrringgg!’ – closer.
Lufa awoke. Her first Varied Thrush of the season was calling from a Lutz spruce perch outside her window. Her home phone rang, echoing the thrush, sweetening its peal.
