What is this?
Where is this?
there’s a stove right
behind my head bed
a plastic container sits
on top of it; full of boiling water.
“What is happening?
What have you done, mother?”
“The plastic container must be stronger
than a cauldron,” my sister says.
I panic to shut the stove as the room
is now soaked in hot steam.
The problem is,
the bed is way too high.
I can’t reach.
My brave sister switches
it off like magic.
What is this?
Where is this?
I’m checking on rooms
to see if they’re up to par
not about cleanliness
or sanitation assignment
just about their existence
are they well behaved
without rails and bars?
there’s a supervisor
following me around;
a cousin with an instinct
and an eye
I run up the stairs
of an archaic apartment
then disappear into a door
leading into a tidy,
dim kitchen
where an old cousin
washes dishes
stoic and unapologetic
I ask her, “You’ve been here
all this time, and yet you
have never dared to
visit…?”
my rage gets intercepted
with a knock and a voice,
“You there?”
the old cousin looks out
her small window
and warns, “Get down!”
we slump down on the floor
locked in an embrace
then she whispers,
“Whatever happens, do not move,
do not even breathe.”
the voice gets closer,
humming…
Humming on!
Come and get me;
What is this?
Where is this?
Another new piece
is born.
never explain
simply shut it off
stop living
in a desperate world
stay in your own bubble
and keep your goings on
and whereabouts in check
hide and breathe in silence
create pieces of magic
I am weak, it’s all I can do.
My head bed does not even know
who I am and how I show
my heart, my spirit
lost to time in throes.
But here I am, oh, yes, here I am.
Still in flow.
In my own mystery that glows.
God, have mercy on my soul.
When pieces steam up hot enough,
it’s time to go.
When pieces steam up hot enough,
it’s time to go.
What is this?
Where is this?
Nobody knows.*
