Work out your budget this morning. Quarter a week.
Seek a spectacular name: Ziggy. WonderWoman. L.
Trust them not to rip you off. L can’t keep you long.
Go home, sleep off the social spending until sunrise.
Do not answer the rhythmic tapping. It’s only the knife
in your kitchen drawer, trying to remind you this is the last
chance if you want some shallow wounds. Knock back.
Nightmares hover here. They come in through windows and rearrange
all of your furniture. You wish you were well-liked enough for mercy,
but know, they want you to look them dead in the face. Cancel the day.
Add your greatest fear to your grocery list. Set it on fire.
You won’t be needing to eat today. Buy beer instead,
liquid loaves and loaves and loaves of peasant bread.
What today calls for is an impulse tattoo. Something strong
that establishes the already-inhabited surface is, in fact, yours.
Needle purges previous explorers. Plant a flag. Let no one touch it.
Go out. Be people rather than person. It’s crucial.
Eat tortilla-wraps and ladyfingers with painted nails. Reject
the boy asking for a cigarette— he only wants to put it out
on your thighs. Find a goddess wearing nothing but a headpiece,
ask her what it’s made of. Receive the glitter in deep breaths.
Hold church down at the bar. When the corporeal
ones crowd the cathedrals, the ghosts are forced
to loiter outside. Sometimes they follow you home
and spend hours trying to make eye contact. Avoid
the awkward situation. Let spirits soothe spirits,
let them invent excuses for why you won’t look up.
Marina Morreale is a young writer from League City, Texas. Her creative nonfiction has appeared in the Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle. She is currently working on her MFA in Fiction at Texas State University.
Artwork: Minjae Lee, Blossom Desire