So I sat and faced you
For awhile I stared
The calm color of eggshell
From this close
You are not flat
But full of barely there bumps
Tiny hills and valleys like pores
Or imperfections
I must move forward
So I stand
My toes flush against your baseboard
My palms placed flat and splayed
They find a cool smooth surface almost soft
But steady, unmoving
So I lean in
My thighs press and flatten
My hip bones and ribcage slightly crunch
Less skin and fat to comfort them
My fleshy middle and my harnessed breasts
Attempt assimilation or passage
Until the tip of my nose touches you
And my warm stale breath
Is reflected fully back at me
My eyesight blurs but still
I must go forward
So I turn my head
The side of my neck meets the cool
My springy ear cups against you
And I listen to your insides
A faint hollow sound that echoes
Like waves inside a seashell
My cheekbone and temple
Crunch like my other less cushioned bones
You are impassable
Unless I use force
Which may break us both
But I will
I scream and pull my fist back
Ready to bear the pain and blood
Of breaking through
To my surprise my limb moves only
A few miserable millimeters
It slams into another you behind me
I turn to find I am surrounded
On all sides
No room now even to sit
So I stand and stare
I face you unmoving
The calm color of eggshell
And yet I must move forward
— by April Resnick, inspired by Samuel Beckett
(a few of his own lines thrown in for good measure)
sometimesihatemycat 