Cate McGowan
PSYCHO
“[W]here I find myself surprised—and not so pleasantly surprised, more often than not,
surprise instead into a heightened awareness of something troubling.”
—Carl Phillips
The blonde actress plays herself as a redhead. Maybe
like in biopics I’ve watched too many times. I know
all the lines. Too unself-conscious for clichés, settings
unsettle stories. That memory remains something picked
at. The balled-up floss of reminiscence. What’s left
of an Upstate winter so long ago. Yes, that memory.
Bathtub scum slick between my toes. Between my legs.
The plop of single drops from the faucet, acoustic effects
like film cues. Something troubling, something tragic
will materialize in the next frame. Mold flowers on the sink
and shelves. The papered ceiling’s blossoms crane to catch
nakedness, and I slide inside the suds, inside the deep
basin. You swipe the fogged window with your sleeve.
The squeak’s a harbinger.