By Anna Lipari


Anna Lipari: So, do you come here often?

The Woman In The Grinnell House Wallpaper: [stares down from the wallpaper with eyes like hot coals]

AL: How long have you lived in the Grinnell House wallpaper? I’d love to hear a little bit about your journey.

TWITGHW: [crouches down on all fours, continues staring]

AL: Is there anything I can give you in exchange for an interview? [riffles through bag] I have some cold steamed green beans from lunch today, and a lot of stale bagels. They forgot to bring me my dinner again tonight, but maybe I can order us some takeout?

TWITGHW: [joints dislocate, head spins 360 degrees, hisses]

AL: Come on, seriously? I’ve been stuck here with covid for five days, I can’t go to class, I can’t work, I can’t talk to my friends. If you’re going to stand there and be creepy the least you can do is say something interesting for me to print in my paper. 

TWITGHW: The scent of blood washes the prairie clean. You will cut your teeth on the vulture’s egg at midnight. When the plague has left you washed up on the shoreline of your own cerebellum the stars will descend from the sky and march in lock-step. When the stars dance on the graveyards of the righteous you will bear lonely witness the dissolution of the firmament. Remember, little one. THE STARS DON’T TOUCH THEMSELVES. GRINNELLIANS DO.

AL: Okay, so Pagliai’s is going to be really busy tonight with all the prospies in town. Want me to order us something from Chuong’s? 

TWITGHW: Can I get bubble tea?