I had a vision this morning, something lucid yet wholly patient, like those small, tight gaps in the aisles of that Mexican mini market. Orange light contrasting with the pale blue morning just near the entrance. Something simple to tie knots with my peach colored dress. Their flesh colored fingers stretched across a bridge of impatient melodies, a million miles away from me, a million miles away from the scent, so familiar and uninspired.

I could have counted for miles, oh how it went
against my own instincts, my own reflection
my father was there, he stood a witness, to my pink, plastic Odyssey
yeah, he stood there in front of me, sitting patiently, watching the words spill from my mouth
And I couldn't have let go of these ugly devices in which I controlled the spaces in every word spoken, days to years, believing that one day, that gap would be closing
And I'd be running to the arms of a drug addled savior, with one hand below my chin, and a pen in the other
Giving thanks to a sad eyed, bronzed skinned lover for the time before I worried her mother, coming home to her empty bedroom
Screaming over the phone to an officer in blue, and me under the covers
I could hear almost every word spilled from her mouth
like marbles, they did
they bludgeoned me half to death

I picked up an old object, reused and repurposed, strength in my fingertips waning, breathing heavily
I dropped to my knees
counting
safe
and easily

that pulsating red line

and that familiar melody would once again return to me, revitalized and
temporary