“as darkness under your eyelids” by Julia on the couch

Tuesday June 9, 2020
8:55pm
5 minutes
how to get over (be born: black…”)
T’ai Freedom Ford

Sleepless again for the third
night in a row or is it morning
she was meant to sleep through?
She feels like a walking yawn.
Maybe she’ll call her sister
today and see how her exams
are going going turning into
all she has the capacity to see.
She thinks if she did sleep would
that mean she were happy again or
merely being visited by happiness.
The way she was visited by shin splints. She cannot decipher betwen the two and that is sleepless sleepless.
Of course sleeping easy doesn’t
automatically denote happiness
but she wonders how so many
others manage to manage through
the night. If it isn’t happiness
that they have and she has forgotten, then what could the magic spread be?

“I nodded” by Julia at her desk

Sunday February 23, 2020
10:05pm
5 minutes
Bring You Apples
Cate Lycurgus

I nodded my head at the goings on in my brain and I let them bounce around.
A to do list so long it starts to eat itself but not from tail or head but right in the middle.
Sometimes it eats an item in half but doesn’t fight the others into stand alone beings.

I nodded at the idea of everything going to shit.

In the blink of an eye I saw the whole church, the congregation, the good book all keeping vigil.
There is about to be an explosion, a death, a rebirth we assume, but first, a noticing.
And I can see it the way I can the vibrations between two smiling faces, the way I can feel them when I rub my hands together or when I tell children about our internal energy and the power of our suspended belief.
I can go back and forth so easily you might think I was born a fish on legs, inching back toward the core of things after being washed up.
It looks easy, faith, and then, impossible.
It can seem pointless.

This is where another moment gets a nod.

“A single breast winking,” by Julia on her couch


Monday February 29, 2016
11:32pm
5 minutes
FWD FWD
Robin Evans


In the shadow of chaos she emerges from her pain, long enough to sit up straight and shake off her darkest parts. Sinking in grungy bathwater, reeking of self hate and self punishment, she lets out a wail, a song of her finned underwater comrades. She is touching ocean floor and stratosphere. She is marking both sides of this earth so she can find her place in between them again.
Her mouth is opened and sound falls out like one last hope-one last plea. She is begging herself to save herself: No muskets, no smoke, no hugs, no rope.