i dreamt last night i hid in an elevator molding my back into angles and steel, willing myself to again disappear if i could close my eyes just tight enough, hold my shallow breathing long enough, slip into the background of almost grey, remember how i used be to able to pray, containerized enough to focus on anything other than clips that can scatter such precious silence, anything other than panicked cluttering, clattering, soaking the floor until i cannot tell i cannot tell i cannot tell i cannot tell which part used to be black or brown, which part orange or or blue, because it's all so red mixing even with the water until it turns a ghastly semblance of pink, spreading and spreading until every wall absorbs the cry of innocence shot down, and i remember clear as my very name the boasting, the open-source sharing of tips and tools and how to get things done, buy the latest magazine version without leaving home or family and how easy it is to just print what's needed, how relaxing to assemble it all, gather the hoard in whatever hole is home, stack it orderly on shiny shelves in a basement and talk about everything as if it were a-okay, as if sinking my nails into my palms until i see the half moons is remotely a-okay, as if picking my cuticles until they bleed and hiding my hands is ever a-okay, as if biting the inside of my own soft cheek until i only taste pennies is fine, like hoping a mantra will make the gunmen pass me by, make me invisible again, instead of this voice too loud on a page, calling out like a target Copyright February 2024, Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, All Rights Reserved
Posted in Katherine's Coffeehouse
