11 am. Time to wake up.


Muscles sore, jaw clenched, warm light


scattering dreams of violence across


the bedroom. I've chosen a self


too large for this body. Too willing to


change for others. Too beautiful


to appear in public. I’d tell you to walk


in my feet but they’re all I have left.


I’ve been weathered down to the


ankles by all the news reports. All the


listening. All the not doing.


When I crawl out of bed I don’t


know where to go. What to say.


I tried to talk about comfort


but how do you describe a color


you’ve never been allowed to see?

Bibliographical info

Joshua Jennifer Espinoza, "COMFORT" from There Should Be Flowers. Copyright © 2016 by Joshua Jennifer Espinoza. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Source: There Should Be Flowers (CCM, 2016)


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