On Hanging a Framed Poster Entitled "Galaxies Today"
Jenny Wong
It’s not as if angels get to decide the perfect place to hang a world. That decision is left up to gods and a pencil mark. In our house, there is only one pencil with enough eraser left to fix its mistakes, and it’s kept in the second bedroom that we turned into your social media influencer space last year. I find the stub of wood and graphite next to a cluster of used mugs on the desk, their round rims pointing to the ceiling, unaware that every cold liquid they dutifully hold will inevitably be rinsed down black holes and kitchen drains. Chores become the consumers of time and space the longer they are left unattended. And some days, all that waits for me is an empty vacuum and dust.
Other days are abstract pictures, blurred swipes of life encased in 24-hour sketches. Today is a one-job day. I begin by staring at a blank wall, and somewhere in an alternate universe, a record player replays our conversation from last Tuesday at 2:16 p.m., except that I found the right words which didn’t start a fight.
Over in the corner, my lizard-brain leg wrestles with guilt over putting a mark on a white virgin wall, while I examine how many fractions of space can exist between a millimeter, rub my finger over and over the black ticks on a ruler. Little things that are hardly ever noticed. Tiny imperfections in the inches of life. A nail can only be perfectly straight one way but infinitely flawed in so many others. Don’t you see (I say as I attempt to steady hammer and nail), one big bang can start a universe.
And then you ask me why it takes so long to hang a picture.
Other days are abstract pictures, blurred swipes of life encased in 24-hour sketches. Today is a one-job day. I begin by staring at a blank wall, and somewhere in an alternate universe, a record player replays our conversation from last Tuesday at 2:16 p.m., except that I found the right words which didn’t start a fight.
Over in the corner, my lizard-brain leg wrestles with guilt over putting a mark on a white virgin wall, while I examine how many fractions of space can exist between a millimeter, rub my finger over and over the black ticks on a ruler. Little things that are hardly ever noticed. Tiny imperfections in the inches of life. A nail can only be perfectly straight one way but infinitely flawed in so many others. Don’t you see (I say as I attempt to steady hammer and nail), one big bang can start a universe.
And then you ask me why it takes so long to hang a picture.
Jenny Wong is a writer, traveler, and occasional business analyst. Her favorite places to wander are Tokyo alleys, Singapore hawker centers, and Parisian cemeteries. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Best of the Net Anthology, Best Small Fiction Awards, and The Forward Prize - Best Single Poem (Written). In Spring 2024, her debut poetry chapbook Shiftings & Other Coordinates of Disorder was published by Pinhole Poetry. She resides in Canada near the Rocky Mountains. Find her on Bluesky and X @jenwithwords.