8:21, February 2023
It’s 8:21 in the morning.
The sky is dark; I can’t see.
Turning on the lights to have breakfast still feels strange.
I lie in bed, hungry, waiting.
It doesn’t become normal with time.
Hunger alone isn’t enough to pull me out of bed.
I close my eyes
To listen, listen, keep listening.
I wait, wait, for the sun to rise.
When it doesn’t,
I add darkness to darkness.
In winter, mornings don’t happen here.
Somehow, I light a fire in the dark.
It smears across my hands, my face; I’m afraid.
The fire can’t keep still inside me
I’m burning, burning bright.
Turning to ash still isn’t enough to pull me out of bed.
I close my heart
To watch, watch, keep watching.
I wait, wait for the fire to rise.
When it doesn’t,
I add syllable to syllable.
Once, this place burned through a whole season
Now, I am burying it in soil.