writer has the sneaking suspicion all of this
has something to do with how she stuck three fingers into herself
and all that came was a bad memory.
the last time writer successfully fingered
herself was two christmases ago. that was when
she hadn’t known a person could finger themself unsuccessfully.
writer lies on her back on the bedroom floor and speed-dates the ceiling tiles.
what’s your favorite color do you like to dance how’s your mom that kind of thing.
none of them call her back
but that’s fine she didn’t like any of them that much anyway.
writer sleeps on her side now.
writer texts her brother
hey remember that time our fish died
and i thought it had learned a trick
because it was floating belly-up and i was so excited
and then you said ‘no it’s just dead’?
writer’s brother texts her back immediately which means
he has his ringer on for her which means
he is scared for her.
lol that was fucked up we didn’t flush it we buried it instead
it was a whole thing and you cried
writer tries to poet herself back into her body, thinks
all survival is is putting distance between yourself and the hurting thing.
sometimes you have to bury it.
writer is on a mattress downstream;
it is a shitty lifeboat
but it is a lifeboat.
sometimes not.
confession: the thing that hurt me
was not my body. it was somebody else’s.
but my body is the thing that is hurting now. still.
i was very still. but it’s done now.
writer eventually finds her body stashed
behind the shower curtains. it is a murder scene
in reverse. the chalk outline gets up and has a balanced breakfast.
the drain pushes back at the blood
which was maybe not blood, depending on what you see.