This is how you pull back blue silk curtains. This is how you differentiate colors: cool to warm. Do make haste to cower from the rays of the sun; this is how you blind yourself. Twist until it refuses. This is how you close turquoise suede curtains. Tell your father he has bad taste. This is how you curse the Earth’s rotation. Tie the plaid curtains into a messy knot. Undo it. Here is how you undo it, but this is how it doesn’t work. Look for the bright side; it’s there behind the blinds. Now this is how the messy knot becomes a good knot. Do it. This is how you wish you didn’t do it, so here’s how the knot comes undone.
Take these, and make sure you write this down: Reverse the threshold and head north from the southeast slash west you were once heading. Take a left comma but remember to keep heading north at all times. Take a pause when lost for optimal clarity. This is how you look both ways. Clear your throat. Watch the lights. Remember this order: ascending, crescendo, transverse, descending. Stitch a moment of breath. This is how you count steps. Stop. Maintain the pull of gravity and sway; only the dead is still. Scratch your chin and pull at your hair. Make sure it is done first; the end is worthless if you look as sane as when you started. Watch the lights. This is how you differentiate patterns; life resides within its movement. Green, green, red, green. Ascending, crescendo, transverse descending. This is how you take an educated guess. This is how you end up north from east instead of south, which is nowhere. Here is how you backtrack, but first pull up your socks and admire your mother’s good taste. If you go too far back, come here and ask for the restroom. Look into the dingy mirror, touch the cracked tiles, smell the toxic air, listen to the grunts of your fellow in the unhinged stall, and taste the brown water from the leaky faucet. Replenish your will within the blemished brevity of these actions; try again tomorrow. Never look at your watch.
Go back to your temporary room with the packed curtains you thought were opal bed sheets. Lie down on the used bed, but don’t dwell on the escapades next door. Dream. This is how you reach the land of the weak and this is how you ask for Estomac. Be polite. This is how you do acid: lie down and burn holes through flesh infested skies, rip through muscles and sever the tendons of the atmosphere. Come down. Get up. Crumble to your knees. Close your eyes. This is how you spill your guts. This is how you undo knots. This is how you walk away.
Based on Jamaica Kinkaid's Girl. Sorry for being absent so long, I promise to catch up on all your lovely poetry!