TELEPHONE LINE 5

Nothing, or Rebirth 

by Liana DeMasi 

I am writing the grocery list

Like poetry. 

There is no time anymore. 

I want to unzip my skin, shed, step out into the center of the room, open the windows and beg in earnest. For the sun. The stars. For anything other than copper on my tongue. 

I sometimes confuse afterbirth and rebirth. But it is only the latter I am after. 

I want to be touched in a way that results in crumbled paper on the floor. Indescribably, but not with a lack of trying. 

Children will be forced to read history books upside down, backwards. In this, they will hope for answers. 

If I become a snake to shed my skin, then perhaps I will be reborn. Yet my allegiances are not with the connotation of a snake. I do not want my character confused. 

I have taken up running with the hopes that the next outdoor adventure will result in wings. But I do not want to be a bird. 

The days in which I feel remarkably ordinary are of most importance. I once sat on the edge of the Grand Canyon and told the space next to me that I was insignificant. It was liberating. To be nothing.