these times

October 16, 2023

Що ти будеш згадувати про ці часи?

I’m face down and I count lines. Five waving at me. No longer glued down with gravity. They twist and they curl. They taunt. I’m sick and I need to get off the kitchen floor.

I’m face down and I’m tripping down the hallway. I’m face up and you haven’t followed me. I’m face up and I’m seasick.

Turn the corner and you’ll see the open window. You’re face up and it’s raining. Walk five feet into the bathroom and you’ll be gone for good. You don’t know it, but that walk feels like eternity. You don’t know eternity. No one does until they see the rain.

I’m face up and it’s raining.

The rain comes and the flood starts. There’s a girl standing in the kitchen, not this one. I see it through the window. I see it through warped mesh and ceramic. I see it through drywall and repressed abrasion. I see it when I close my eyes. This is when it clicks. She is standing in a house that I hold deep in my soul. If I am not her, I am nothing. This is what I am.

She is eight years old. She is standing alone in the kitchen. Her hair is stringy with tears. My hair is stringy with tears. I am wrapped up around myself and I am falling apart. Her tears fuel the flood. We cling to the boat with the claws of killers. What is a family if not a sinking ship? Her mother sleeps down the hall. Her mother is not there. She can’t be. This is to protect them both. There is no good outcome to this situation. They are two girls waiting on the plank.

Her aunt sleeps downstairs. Her aunt is not there. She can’t be. Her eyes shine like booze and broken birds. She grates her gifts. She is cursed to be 16 forever.

Her grandmother sleeps down the hall. Her grandmother is not there. She can’t be. Her whole life has been little girls and let downs. I will not be a let down. I am not her little girl.

But I was. And she is a let down. She is eight years old.

Girls, girls, girls, and mean, mean men. Girls and Galliano. Girls that growl. This house is a kennel of bastard girls. Fathers that crack and mothers that crumble. This is how it has been. Mother, grandmother, nana. Мати, бабуся, прабабуся. We are a bad omen. We are hounds.

She is eight years old. She is standing alone in the kitchen. She and I are the only people in our world. Nobody will ever understand how this feels. Nobody has seen the rain. Nobody else is on the boat. I am steering this shipwreck through whitewater rapids. This brown shag carpet will be the last thing she’ll stand upon. This green-tiled kitchen will be the last thing she sees before we crash. She’s face down and she’s crying. She’s face up and it’s raining. She’s face down and she drowns.

Turn the corner and you’ll see the open door. You’re face up and it’s clear. Walk five feet into the light and she’ll be gone for good. You know eternity. You’ve seen the rain. It’s a clear day.

The sun cuts the curse. You’re my mother and you don’t fight with your teeth anymore. You’re my mother and I love you.

The son cuts the curse. That girl sleeps at the bottom of the lake and I stand on the shore. I am not the girl on the plank. The gifted girl. The little let down girl. I am the son and I will begin my life again. I close the window.

I’m face up and you’re face down and you’re sorry. I’m face down and you’re face up and I forgive you. We’re face up and we step off the plank.

Більш нічого.