Читать книгу blud - Rachel McKibbens - Страница 7

the first time

I came back to life

was in 1980.

I awakened

head a blue

labyrinth

trapped in sound—

a grotesque clutter:

the meep-meep of a

cartoon bird

sticky flock

of children

screeching

in the courtyard.

Then a voice

(voices?)

I did not

recognize:

the ruined gasp

emerging from

within

my cutoff throat.

I unwrapped

the telephone cord—

how long had I been

down?—skull

fever-pounding

from the blackout,

body feathered in sweat.

I listened

to the room,

felt the rush

& shuffle

of my heart—

a felled finch.

Lavender shock

of resurrection.

Lucky my dad

was not awake

to find me there—

his radiant little

death inventor

with X’d-out eyes,

a halo of birds

circling my dome.

Lucky to have

outlived this

unripened error.

Can you imagine it?

A child standing

at the mouth

of the underworld

pleading

for a time-out,

trying to reason

with whatever’s

in charge:

No, no! I never

meant to stay dead.

I simply wanted

a sweeter life.