Just Add Oxygen by Jessica Dawson


Just Add Oxygen

Your hundred thousand breaths
finger the outline of my consciousness;
your seven hundred unspoken words
strum the back of my neck like
impossible notes,
implausible love songs.
Whimper your fears in my language
sign your dreams in felt –
inaudible and fevered,
soft and worn.

Let’s make a pact
to pry apart our eyelids
with forceps when necessary
to fight the heavy hands of sleep
when we’re
inches from answers,
seconds from satisfactory solutions.

Let’s revert to amoeba,
chisel down
to the basest versions of ourselves,
give up our car keys
bank accounts,
favorite jeans
and lovers,
become asexual and self-sufficient
to thwart the motion
of our borrowed freedom.

I lie awake counting zebras,
imagining empty skylines:

we’re all
volunteer rainbows,
substitute stars.

                – Jessica Dawson
                   from her book Fossil Fuels