The puppet in the corner. It had no hair. And too many fingers thumping through the darkness. Mad rabbit huffing the aerosol adrenalin can. In scratches. Digging each thought deeper into the skin. Raking the moment across it until the flesh is parted. What's underneath gushing to the surface in an innocuous mushroom cloud.
No rage left to balance. No grief to be the fulcrum. No more levers. Only switches now. On. Off. And that middle place where the spark stutters against itself. Waiting for our approval. Permission to live again.
Pull the hair. Shed that dress. In stark light so unkind I am startled by my own reflection. Without the nylon that turns pale legs dark. Without the black that makes dwarf eyelashes long.
Nothing but the switch.
On or Off.
Asking which I am.
Letting down the hem on this life. Unafraid of being small.
Wednesday
8/09/2006 11:35:00 PM
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