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by Jack B. Bedell
She spends most of her time on surveillance thinking about things she could be doing if she weren’t trapped inside the van with her camera focused on a closed door or a driveway full of idle cars. Sometimes her mind gravitates toward the fantastical—digging her toes into wet sand, divvying up lotto winnings, world peace; sometimes she leans toward the practical—making grocery lists, planning birthday parties, lighting the burn pile behind her house; most times, though, her thoughts amble into simple dislocation—imagining she’s in a clean bathroom instead squatting over a hole in the floorboard or dripping sweat onto the mat at hot yoga, not into the van’s shag carpet. Schrödinger’s investigator, both stuck in the van and free of it, on the job yet anywhere else. Present, but meta. In— Out—Solid—Gas—Water and Wine—Body, Soul. All things possible as long as her camera holds its focus.
Jack B. Bedell teaches at Southeastern Louisiana University where he also edits Louisiana Literature. His latest collection is Ghost Forest (Mercer University Press, 2024). He served as Louisiana Poet Laureate 2017-2019.
