being asked how to cope, common, & still just silt by Claire Albrecht
being asked how to cope
I am not qualified to give that kind of advice
I sleep on a boomerang pillow, wrapped around me
and I hug it for warmth
can you open your eyes under water?
perhaps that’s what I’m lacking, a vision
and slick across the lenses
washing the dishes, the sweat sticks around my
t-zone, salty like fetta, like my sinuses
I scrub and wipe and scrub
and I don’t know if it’s my honesty that
disarms you or the windchimes, but I’m sending
all my wishes, regardless
common
we are in the small hot
bathroom, because someone
has vomited into her hair
I turn on the tap, pull
paper towels from the dispenser
and the silky water runs
through my hands. I do not
know her. we talk, she’s
drunk and I can smell
her and the someone else
that’s on her.
today, in the hotel
under the harsh lights, I
saw the shimmer of silver
hairs staring out at me.
with my fingers I rubbed
through until I found them.
separated and yanked and
sat them curly and insistent
on the sink.
I do not
feel old, nor beautiful,
but I put on two layers
of lipstick anyway.
you fucked me the
other morning and a tap was
turned on. my uterus came
alive; it spewed out some
red viscosity and the
toilet paper you used to
clean up stuck like peeling
paint to your dick. I
hadn’t had a period in
months – the smell was
foreign to me and I
didn’t put on any pads.
the small brown stains
in my white underwear
are a memory. they
don’t wash out.
I wipe her hair.
we are in the same
bathroom. it is every
bathroom. I clean up the
hair and the vomit and
the flakes of dead skin,
and when I stand up
from pissing, a drop falls,
pink and wet on the tiles,
and dries.
still just silt
the water is cold
and deep when you
dip your feet into
this stream, this
moving breathing
body that beats
with its inhabit-
ant fishes and
stones and feel of
slime. it bends
around your knees
creating ripples
and patterns that
fade slowly to the
banks to rest a
while. this stream
runs fast, then slows
and dries in warmer
months, leaving
traces of a trajectory
of downward move-
ment, a widening
of paths, debris and
sediment but now
as you stand you see
yourself in the mirror
of the water and
it cries back at you
and is pulled away
by the current, you
try to reach toward
the tug but no
you are gone
and the stream
unceasing will
bring another you
and yet another
with a little swept
away, and a little
left behind
Executive Producers
Daniel Henson
Sue White
