by Rachel Chitofu
Every morning
Mirror and shoulder blade connect along with hearts and minds
Throbbing outside the doctor’s prescription notes and tormentous elevator rides, two minutes before
Business meetings that take lives or claim them.
Every five you subtracted when you started the vending machine, you could have saved
Because that is the world we live in and sometimes
The police own it; when they come to your house and break the glass
And comb the terrains with the curls of your mane, do their job for them
But hide last week’s pay check
For a week later, the clouds are gone with them and you’re all smiles again.
You count the wheat you keep in the sealed bags,
Under your bed, aside all the tinted rags
For doll clothes and kitchen counter cloth when
The drain of life clogs. Be still. Be happy
Your back is aching ,but when you lean against the cupboards,
Its to shed the weight of the bills and the length of the grocery lists disintegrating the vital parts of your head.
Bread. Milk. Eggs, and milk again
For if we try to do without milk it will run
From our noses , when our faces are lying flat across concrete
And the police are punishing us again
And our are knees are buckling, toppling cliffs again, quick.
Quick to empty a sack of river sand onto the kitchen floor to mesh with the tears and thoughts and conflicts, then maybe, something worse.
But, wear your arms flabby to leave them without the capacity to cuff your wrists and lay your neck
By the seaside.