by Ben Grad

Man Ray affixed nails to the bed of an iron. Not a modern iron, more of the old fashioned type, one made entirely of iron except for its wooden handle. The iron I use, now, just across the room, resting on that padded board next to a pile of enough shirts to last the week, that iron is mainly plastic. The shirts are deep powerful blue and insightfully hip offwhite. I wonder if he used that iron before attaching the nails and calling it "The Gift," if he felt that weight. Iron iron, plastic iron, and shirt shirts; they're weightless now, even Man Ray's iron, seen only in photographs, and what if the rest of the world's been lightening, ever since he made that iron not an iron?


Ben Grad studies literature in Oxford and Atlanta. He enjoys meticulously planned activities, describing trees, and feeling uncomfortable with strangers.