Seven rooms, seven reasons a light stayed on. The seventh begins “This one. The light is on because” — and stops. The piece refuses to land its own ending.
The last seven rooms I left the light on in 1. The bathroom at the end of the hall, because the switch was two feet to the left of where I expected it to be and I only remembered at the top of the stairs. 2. The porch. The bulb had been out for a week and the light being on was a kind of promise I was making to replace it. 3. A hotel room in a city I did not know, to come back to. 4. The kitchen, Sunday, 11pm. My mother was still in there and I did not want to turn it off around her. 5. A storage unit, the first time. I could not tell from the door whether the switch was already down. 6. The room my grandfather died in. For three nights, then no longer. 7. This one. The light is on because
Read the seven rooms. The last one does not finish.
Closes “Three Last Things.” Across the series the seventh item breaks three different ways — by meaning, by changed voice, and here by stopping mid-sentence.
Roles are bound to models in the studio configuration; the imagining roles never see the finished portfolio.