House of Wiles

For JW

Three outrageous men had hosted a gathering of folks out of their minds that evening—and we all sat and leaned and crowded around each other in the deep conversations of open-mouthed bodies. The house itself was my lover's living space of pleasant debauchery that cleaned itself out by early morning, every morning. What on earth did we ever do for breakfast? The house was one of the only residential spaces in the brown warehouse district of St. Paul. Railroads, a few scattered bars, some of the last places in Minnesota to comply with the smoking ban. A single bare lightbulb swung from their porch.

From the inside, we had been watching it swing lightly, eventually stopping our conversations and wondering what was coming next—to the house, to our mouths, in our lives. All was quiet then as we watched the old yellow light bulb rock itself and thought about forgiveness for the way we lived outside of our bodies.

Someone in the living room dropped the record needle and the tripped-out melancholy drums of Tom Waits hit us in the backs of our heads. We all rose and swung our bodies slowly, swayed. The heat of moving in unison was extraordinary. The door to the outside opened before we got there. We spilled out, rocking and creaking. We were all so thin, worn from the genuine thrill of living. Thin sacks of bones tumbling down the street. The steam from our bodies rose off our shoulders and came together as one above us all. We were able to leave the House of Wiles behind and return to it when the ghosts above us seeped into the pale light of morning.

Anika Eide is an artist living in Minneapolis. She is working towards her MFA at Hamline University. She is happiest working in multiple mediums and collaborations, such as dance film, writing and visual art installations and music-writing-dance improvisation.