Comfort

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?