Hanging

Before me hangs a jar on a pink wall. It was made to look old, and a feather is stuck through one of the clay handles. To the right hangs a large mirror, perfectly square, framed by lengths of wood painted in yellows, greens, and blues. Where my face is reflected, there are patches of gray oxidation. Above a green light switch bolted into the wall hang a piece of cactus wood – woven like the fossilized thread of monstrous spiders – and a set of horns from an animal that never wandered this desert. There hang a skull and an abalone.