Syntax

1 for joy and 0 for everything else. Do you understand
what brought you here? Was it the light or the absence
of light? The man or what he did. There is a way to measure
these things. A syntax. But once you have been touched
you cannot be anything else. Wallpaper or plastic.
Think back. A lady in nice clothes reads a out list of terrible things and
one of these belongs to you. Like all beasts
you must name it before it can die. The logic of hurt is a very long line.
Now, who said that, Job or Micheal? Well which one
was holding the gun? I cannot draw you a map, but here is what
I had for breakfast: Coffee. Bread. Here is every word that
has ever made me cry: Hello. Here. No. I.
I’m forgetting something. It has to do with Sunday. We stood
in the kitchen forcing the life back into birds from the window
and then everything goes dark.
But now I am just telling stories. I want a truth
I can chew on. Above us, Mercury, but what is up? On the
wider scale everything is in parallel. Horizontal, even to time.
I am tired of this story, give me yours and I will write it down.
What happened here? I will point to your arm. To your ribs.
To the edges of your throat. What happened? Does it hurt
when I do this? Here are my hands, where you can
see them. Touch is a word. Want is.

 

 

REYNA N. A. is a recent graduate in English and Psychology from the University of California, Davis. She is the author of two independently published chapbooks, "Hand Made Ghosts" (2017) and "All Summer Longing" (2017). Her works have been published online at Kingdoms in the Wild. 

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