Panic Attack in the Shower

Jason Hockaday

I.

I learned to turn the lights off. So dark, you can’t see.

Hot.

So hot it transports you to an era of red.

So hot you can feel it suckling the pains out of your skin. and your pores open their mouths and scream that it’s too fucking hot.

Like you need to be told because you can’t feel when you breathe.

Swells in your stomach, pull the pain out at your roots because it lives in your hair.

II. III. and if you could just rip it out just yank it out

Hands clasped asking why Why me? What did I do to deserve this? I’ll do anything. Just to make it stop.

Please. But all the anger has released its toxins into your system and the poison of it all makes you ill, physically ill. Tears mixed with gasoline the most sacred of anointments and turn to your ancestors and beg Why me? Why me?

I can hear them reply, No more, anamahiich. No more Indian tears

and I see through the dark as the children are taken my great grandmother is taken and every araaras’ tears and they say we have already cried for you, see? We have shed all our tears.

IV.

But nani’xuupsas, I have messed up so much. How can you still care for me?

And I realize the humor of my body’s reactions for the first time

They gave me laughter, because laughter cures.

My ears fill with water, my nose and mouth fill with water. my space fills with water my eyes and lungs fill with water (ishaha uum ikrii) I am warm and unseeing and calm V.

I am clean.