|
Nod Yes to the moth-eaten smog shimmying underneath the chandelier Yes to the walls leaning Pisa-like, the stucco spitting paint, the baseboards shooting nails Yes to popcorn ceilings yellowing like white pills left too long in a bottle on a windowsill Yes to vertigo, nausea, acidic twisters in the gut to kaleidoscope lamplight and the halos crowding the corners of corneas to voices tunneling through ears like cockroaches Yes to hot tea in muscles, to grieving feet, to sweat as copious as a cat’s purr and thirst as bright as enlightenment Yes to the map where sex is the country of citizenship Yes to sleep like the glaze on a donut Yes to fear of elevators, fear of lightning, fear of flying, fear of birth to being afraid for no reason, to no quarrel with death to the dream of waking soundly in the garden of choice, yes By Jen Karetnick Originally published in The Drexel Online Journal. Collected in Tales from Mango House, ©2007 by Jen Karetnick. Please request permission before copying or distributing. |
       |