Comfort

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?

Bibliographical info

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)

 

 
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