by Josie
I doze with the lights on,
curled up on marble tile
next to my hanging laundry.
I see my world for what it is—
too tired to be
so normal.
Wafts of lavender greet me gaily
and I air myself out on the tile floor.
With my ear, like this,
I can hear the ocean bellow.
The waves rise up
and I’m sailing now,
using my body as leverage.
The wind in my pocket
& my breath is the rudder,
I find delight in drowning.
The increased oxygen
is extra thrilling
their eyebrows massage my body—
I see questioning glances
& hurried worry &
I become a fish
in this wide ocean.
The black they wear, not believe
this sea of tears wept
for the benefit of
whom (?) –
I cling to a blackness
only angels can see.
The fluorescents do their best
to love my nuanced civility
and I reach to them with fingertips;
the lights are of angels
and I can hear them whisper,
they sing to me & I nod my mind.
The waves are our friends,
and the gates are opening.
I approach, so quiet,
but they squeeze shut—
I’m pushed back,
into ocean tides too strong to surf.
My strength I reserve
for the carving of obstinacy
inherited through wars and
trigger fingers.
The windows won’t close,
I tell the angels.
They try to help me
but our combined efforts
make us too hungry,
so the windows stay open.
I can’t help the whispers like silk
for they are a part of me
I don’t greet hello.
So angels & I dance shadow puppets
against the grainy moon platform,
we giggle into skin sleeves
& decorate ourselves in tattooed
exhaustion, wave after wave—
too tired to be so normal.
The windows can stay open
forever I say;
the angels shall accompany me to the gates.
We can fall together,
seeking solace in company,
our clouds wave hello
from the depths of consciousness.
