Atlas & Alice | Issue 3, Spring 2015
Chamber in my heart I'm plumbing the depths. Of me. Looking for stories that will reflect. Truth. Stories that bring relief, or release. I’m typing and typing and trying and trying and this word and this phrase and this metaphor. This piece of context. This profile. This blue eye. This beard. This. Somewhere in here is an answer. Somewhere is me. This way of standing. This scar on the sole of my foot, glass buried in schoolyard mud. This memory of wasp stings. This doll that isn't the doll but is just enough like it to make me burst into tears at 18, at Christmas, at the familiar feel of her fabric body in my hand. I’m looking for a thread. Something I can get ahold of. Something I can tug. Something that will catch on the sharp edges of memory and spark a nerve pain memory that I lost. Something the same color as that blanket. No. Forget that blanket. No. Forget me on that blanket. No. Don't forget. Those raw voiced memories hold a part of me. And by hold I mean trap. And by trap I mean I want to let it go. I’m rooting around in the dark. I open my mouth wider to catch the light of this full moon. I feel it trickle down into my gut, where so many knowings live. I feel it seeping around corners. Cool light. Raising the flesh on my arms. Light like whiskers. Light like mirror. I see a tiny girl, betrayed. I see a tiny cougar, spitting nails. I scoop out a chamber in my heart. Line it with the softest cotton cushions, and rabbit skins. Hang fairy lights. Put out bowls of meat, and milk. I can hold them soft here. I can hold them safe.
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