April 19, 1994
Apparently when I was born
I asked the OB-GYN
if the lighting in the room could be changed
I wanted it less direct,
preferred it to be a little more developed
and civil to all things inside the room
especially the elements unfocused
I asked the light to walk over
to the mess of unplugged electrical cords in the corner
to the space between a stain of coffee and one of blood
on that shirt poking out of the drawer
Pleaded that the light commit itself
to the rising and sinking brow of a nurse assistant
lost in her own imagination as she stared at a doorknob
thinking about the way that boy said goodbye to her
The doctor caught wind of this, scratched his head
turned to his team and to my parents and back
(it was all very difficult for them)
and said
“But Connor, you’ve just been born. The room
has to be in accordance with you as its center.”
So I climbed down off my mother
and wagged my genitals around until
none of them found it funny—
leaving me and the room
the fuck alone
Furniture
All there is
other than my bed
is this chair
this is simply true
a fact you couldn’t argue with
The two of them are only a few inches apart
but I might as well be
in a different decade
sitting in this chair
My breath changes rhythm
and the amount of cobwebs in
the corners of the room
triples
and summer comes back
but not in the way I want
rather in the way
of bug bites
populating themselves once again
around my joints and everywhere else
my skin is
close to the bone
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