At night, I banter with the zebra who has lost its bones and uses my bedroom ceiling to maintain its stripes through the blinds. The glass of water I’ve arranged in case I get thirsty sits in front of the digital clock, and I never drink from it; it has been poisoned like holy water by electric blue fingers: the smug tadpole tails of sevens, the top box of an eight, three resolving its psychic complex of being half of the eight like the twin of a stillborn. The zeros fill the cup and light up the room. I change my shape too. I am a ball. Then, I am a starfish who loves her space. I am a long smooth flute imagining which holes would make what sounds if some shadow were to come through the blinds and close them.
I still have things left to tell you, so I tell the whole room. Do you worry that death is black like sleep without dreaming, and still we are blind the whole time we are alive? Did you know that our bones will be called fossils one day? My foot has twenty-six fossils, for example. That foot sleeps. I think of our fossils when I’m not asleep, when I’m digging us back up, when I’m burying us, when I’m breathing into the mouth of the space that used to be between us and begging it to cough up the ocean.
I tell a story about us that never ends. We are protected by a red rope and a sign that says, “do not touch.” We are glued together. No one believes we really existed, but they marvel at the certainty imposed by our spines. Someone who has volunteered her time explains that we were discovered on the ceiling and it took a long time to put us together. “They had stripes,” she will tell a hive of pupils who have eyes that see in the dark. They imagine us having stripes. They dream we walked, that our bones didn’t need glue and stayed together by their own wet magic. These simple, stupid creatures were once awake and now with hollow sockets, they stare into each other. Skulls, the volunteer volunteers, referring to our time. Somewhere in water, you swim toward me in the shape of a three. I light up, half an eight.
posted by holly.