11 am. Time to wake up.
Muscles sore, jaw clenched, warm light
scattering dreams of violence across
the bedroom. I've chosen a self
too large for this body. Too willing to
change for others. Too beautiful
to appear in public. I’d tell you to walk
in my feet but they’re all I have left.
I’ve been weathered down to the
ankles by all the news reports. All the
listening. All the not doing.
When I crawl out of bed I don’t
know where to go. What to say.
I tried to talk about comfort
but how do you describe a color
you’ve never been allowed to see?
Joshua Jennifer Espinoza, "COMFORT" from There Should Be Flowers. Copyright © 2016 by Joshua Jennifer Espinoza. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Source: There Should Be Flowers (CCM, 2016)