But everyone is on their phones and they
Here, mother says
This is food.
I learned to grow it
from the bottom of father's bottle
and cook it over a flame of boys
who kissed too hard
It's yours now.
Eat it and become.
Peace I Cry
and the soul hollows
Tightness of breath
sourcing a drama from which there are no
words to be spoken
No tears to be feigned
How will this fadge, dear one
without the God's recognition?
If empathy is only reserved for
the worst possible scenario?
HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN TRULY SHOT WITH ADRENALINE?
AND I DON’T MEAN DURING YOUR 3-MILE JOG, BRENDA.
I MEAN EVERY CAPILLARY IN YOUR BODY POUNDING WITH RIGOR AND OXYGEN? YOUR PUPILS DILATING AND THE WORLD BURSTING INTO FLAMES BEFORE YOU AND AROUND YOU BUT YOU CAN’T BE BURNED? NOT BECAUSE YOU ARE INVINCIBLE BUT BECAUSE, IN THAT MOMENT, YOU REALIZE THAT YOU ARE ALSO ON FIRE?
YOU ARE IT’S VERY SOURCE.
THEY TALK ABOUT “FIREWORKS” AS IF THE FEELING IS SOMEHOW ABOVE YOU
LIKE IT’S FAR AWAY…A VISION TO BE SIMPLY ADMIRED WITH OOHS AND AHHHS.
BUT IN BEING KISSED BY HIM
MY WHOLE BODY ERUPTED
EXPLODED INTO COLORED LIGHT.
IT TOOK EVERYTHING I HAD TO KEEP FROM SCREAMING.