Porcelain blue, runs up the glass body, engulfing it in swirls of seafoam, like the most elegant whirlpool. Blue, always her favorite. Teal to be exact, turquoise - that perfect blue you'll find dancing atop the Caribbean Sea.
The lamp poses, like the crown jewel of her apartment. The eye immediately brought to it, a calm placed around the minds' eye.
The apartment had been dim, maybe even lifeless - it had smelt stale, without movement. The lamp created a stir - a soft white light under a teal hue, blanketing the apartment ever so warmly. She felt home, for the first time since she moved, she felt home. She tasted home in blue, in teal, and in turquoise. Dainty blue, hypnotized by that ruby blue, magnetized by it.
The body of the lamp, staring at her with the deepest pools of india ink blue, hard and sturdy and strong. She flicked her finger against the blue glass, always loving the sound it made, most satisfying of all, tink, tink, like the prettiest young ballerina tip-toeing and sashaying across the space to be hers. That was her color. The lamp shone high, that small lamp, lit every corner of the apartment with its blue boldness and mischief, creating life, smells of sea spray, tastes of lobster butteriness, supple and pink. -NJ
The lean of the lamp is disconcerting, a cheap garbage lamp that doesn't look good in the life I'm trying to curate for myself. In true contradictory fashion, of loving beautiful things but loving things with memories more I bought the same lamp I had in my college dorm, then in my first, second, and third apartments. This was supposed to by Me On My Own, a grown up lady with grown up things but instead I've outfitted my surroundings sparsely, a lazy vase of flowers, a desk, a bed, a lamp, more a hostel than a permanent living space, the lamp from college a daily physical metaphor for all the things I hold onto that I shouldn't be carrying still.
There's a magic hour, when the sun shines right into my bedroom and of course I make it about me, thinking Thank you sweet god for this light, I needed it. The dust of my century-old corner of Brooklyn swirls in the light of the lamp and it's so pretty that you almost forget it's just dead skin, little bits of you. -KM