Adriana.K.Maxwell
I'm lying in bed trying to gather energy to face the day, lying in the sun, trying to soak it in, absorbing it from the grass, trying to keep going, keep it focused.
The shopping cart with the squeaky wheel rests now in a corral of its own kind, watching the sunset over the Walmart parking lot, munching on forgotten receipts.
The pot boils over on the stove, sticky rice foam frothing over the sides and hissing into the fire. Hands fumble putting on mitts.
The spiraled horn is laid before the king's feet. Unicorn to be crushed into powder to save his daughter because innocent souls don't deserve to go just yet, don't deserve to be still in silk, covered up by his bloodstained hands.
Shovel talk because sometimes you need to know that someone will be angry for you, that you are worth rage, and it may be wrong but man, it feels good.
Sometimes, it's hard to keep pushing against the current, when all your eyes are on the paddle and the bubbles swirling as you push it in, and you no longer see the dragonflies or the waterlilies nor hear the red-winged blackbird's call. Sometimes, you just need to give up and drift for a while.
Circle round, all connected, no one in front of the other, hold hands, come in tight, make a bubble and blow it out,
Push, push through, shoulders stiff, arms out, legs braced, whole body shove, no matter what, just don't stop,
The fish is thrashing, I slide my hand down over the spines so he can't stick me. This is going to hurt, but if I can hold him still, maybe I can do it fast. There's no need for extra pain.
Ink from octopus, confusion swirling, ink on paper, curling letters telling about the day, a voice through the years, ink on my fingers, testing uncapped markers left by little artists "drawing" their names and "mom" and "dad" and "love", all the most important words
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