Waiting to be assimilated

She felt the weight of the day

before she opened her eyes.

It felt like trying to lift the ceiling

off the floor, only to fall like overripe fruit.


How many hours can I push around

sunlight and rain trying to make

a fractal that calls to the fern,

she wondered silently?


Maybe if I stand very still in the forest,

with only memories of movement and hurt,

I will be swallowed by moss and bears

(which feels oddly impending), she smiled.


There’s a savior out there somewhere,

she thought, and he’s making the earth

tremble with his laughter.

I’d like to laugh too once I stop being sad.


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