charlotte said
there are times when i feel like i’m observing
myself from a constellated distance in the same
way one would look at a starry sky or a pastoral
scene or a bloody gory picture show
and when i see myself
in this way
i am wearing a full length black dress
and my head is shaven in a haphazard
and misbegotten manner
and the background is so white
that it becomes a sort of nothingness
not quite an ethereal nothingness
but a quivering nothingness composed
of floating particles of debris that could be
flecks of white ash from raging wildfires
and so i wrap my quavering white
hands around my shuddering body
like a cowering child in a torrent of criticism
and all i can see are a set of white hands
wrapped around a flowing black dress
in front of a spectral white nothingness
and my chalk white face is emotionless
and my eyes are painted black coals
devoid of compassion or empathy
and i am struggling to keep my mouth closed
because i know if i open my mouth
i will release a stream of swarming plague locusts
and these locusts will be filled with lechery and greed
the sort of lechery and greed that devours defenseless
acts of kindness and helpless acts of tenderness
James Butcher’s work has appeared in Rivet, Prick of the Spindle, Midwest Review, and Cream City Review.
