Crossing the threshold
Pink Floyd
A pretty white lady is on the screen,
lips a light pink, glossy,
eyelashes heavy with mascara,
teeth white and straight.
Next to her, in a tiny box,
is footage of a man being murdered.
“The video was appalling, no one should watch something like that ever again. People on the streets have grown more violent, begun looting. Why has there not been justice?” she says.
Then, the tiny box grows bigger, taking up the entire screen,
so that everyone can watch the video she said
no one should see.
The Girl watched silently
until She couldn’t—
She leaned forward until Her head went through the screen,
puffed out a breath,
and blew the officer over.
Yet, Floyd laid motionless
as his soul
said farewell to the body
it had once called home.
So, She leaned forward again
and drew in his last breath
with a violent gasp.
Next, She pushed the air back out towards the officer
who inhaled it without a second thought.
A volcano in reverse.
His eyes went wide
and he fell to his knees,
grabbing at his throat.
Hot and sticky.
Across the street,
an onlooker gasped,
and another
failed to breathe at all.
Caught at an impasse of
guilt and fear.
The officer had begun scratching at his neck now,
lines of lava and peeled skin.
His lips turned from
pink to blue.
His eyes
shrank back into his head.
His skin
began to crack and smoke.
Until finally he coughed
forcefully,
letting two
unwilling souls
into the air
to begin again.
Black Tears
Outside, the clouds were red,
the sky was black and blue,
and the stars were white.
The streets were full of
rectangles and canisters,
fog and milk.
Yet, the people weren’t waiting for somebody to save them,
they were trying to save themselves.
And there were tears.
red tears, white tears, blue tears,
and black tears.
Pooling in circles
at their feet
as little kids without rain boots
splashed around their heartache.
It was hot as well.
Hot enough
that when people chanted,
their words quickly evaporated
into the air,
creating a cloudy smog
as if their throats were aflame.
None of them knew
that She was there as well,
twirling around in the smog,
breathing it in and letting out waves of hope.
Later,
She would remember this feeling,
a photosynthesis of sorts,
every time they remembered Her name.
And outside the window,
in the sky,
there might have been a spaceship
taking him home.
Hunger
one hand grabbing another
as their injustices trickle
from the corners of their eyes
a constant hunger
never satisfied
but always trying
to be whole
every breath
like sand in an hourglass
She gives
until
there is nothing
left to exhale
the cost of
carrying infinity
Mama, can you skip to the part about the white horse?
The white horse?
Yes, when she escaped from an evil man pretending to be a knight?
Oh yes, that white horse.
She was so cool, the way she defeated the knight all on her own.
Baby, She escaped from more than just an evil man. She also escaped from society and the ways it tried to define her.
Really? She did all that too? Why don’t I remember?
Yes, she did. Listen closely this time.