for { _._ }
We are often humbled by our crazy. By our hypnosis of chaos and gutted scar tissue. Why must we press pills into mouths who converse with invisible tribes. There is no need to call in sick or call out numbers like 9-1-1 when knees only need some dirt or wooden plank and hands can clasp or shake; there is really no uniform to this. Just breathe or don’t and it will all arrive in time.
A New York City rodent eats away at my french sourdough bread–purchased at the farmer’s market–which I left on my kitchen counter, and I am angry. I grow sad that it didn’t ask permission. And I want to know if there was enjoyment in its yeast. And I want to know if it grew bloated afterward. Or did it take the time to spread some peanut butter on it. And did it pray beforehand or at least take a moment to express gratitude for this find.
A small white dog barks at me on my way home from work and I begin to cry. I think about a big black dog too far away to pet. My arms are willing to stretch far to reach him, but I’d have to remove them first. I pick up one of my tears as though it is a child that just needs to be held. I let my tongue travel through its salt and memory.
I just want to know what home feels like.
Sometimes this city feels like a zipper I feel trapped in and there is too much blood to mention or measure but the music distracts me and the free love overwhelms me.
I see a hazel leaf by my foot, which is trapped in false leather; this smells of dust and Halal trucks fuming; hear the woman by the F train gasping out her cigarette.
am i breathing is this breathing is it breathing if i feel do i feel is this feeling what is felt
Woman plunges her map into my water.
Fall hard.
What is really meant by prayer? My knees are atheists. My breasts are annoyed and what fits between my legs is no longer fitting. What do I say? Forgive me? Reference how long it has been since the last time? This first time is the last time which is the only time which may lead to the next time, but I really cannot be sure.
Aimee Herman 