Читать книгу Happy, Okay? - M.J. Fievre - Страница 18

Paloma

Every night, the pills

stick in my throat and

work my gag reflex;

I can feel my epiglottis

shift when I swallow.

You watch me

like I’m somebody

who needs watching

& I don’t feel beautiful

when I’m pinned

& wriggling

under the microscope

of your gaze.

Instead of medication,

I want sunshine

& birdsongs

—the kind of laughter

that begins in my chest

& tumbles

out & across

my frame like waves

lapping at the shore of a beach.

With or without you

I’m a shadow

woman, a charcoal sketch:

the sky gray,

the earth black,

the trees laced together

by a meshwork of dark

netting. Alone,

even when surrounded.