I recall a person — no matter
their gender, don’t sweat their body type —
with messy hair and porcelain voice
that broke in the upper registers
at precisely the same places it always did,
each time they spoke or unnervingly sang.
I hated listening to them but found it
required that I did so whenever they spoke
of what they knew, what they’d seen.
Damnation to them for the force they tried
and tested on me. I just wanted to sleep
very still in my own bed and blankets
and pretend I had nothing to do just because
they told me to do it. Eventually I’d get up
cursing their fragile way of speaking
that nonetheless smashed rock hard upon me
and forced me to rise. Rise I did, a half second
behind their beat as if knowing the smoke was coming
but trying to stay clear. I recall knowing them
but forgetting them, falling back into
the stagnant flow of daily life — where is the milk
for the coffee, where is the coffee cup?
Half a second, maybe longer,
maybe a full second. Maybe the messy hair
distracted me. Maybe I couldn’t get free
of the voice. Porcelain, the voice,
cracked porcelain. I recall it
as being part of a person. I don’t recall
anything beside sadness
that I cannot know them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T