Rebecca Clay
Three thirty p.m.
And where is the lesson here
the great freedom
you keep choking on
its space is relative and your window
becomes your eye becomes
the top of the well.
Is there liberation in space or in matter?
does it need echoing
valleys or bodies pressed close
or space between these deflated ribs, hunched kidneys
empty of food, alcohol, thoughts . . .
How thoroughly do I need to excavate before I know you
and then will I even desire
will I even recognize the deliverance
It will not need to come
It will already have been
Delivered.
I need that sweet taste after thirst
not an ocean, me deep in it
how petty my wants
how small my imagination
how ignored the smooth cogs behind my eyes.
They work best that way.
Awareness is air drying out the oil.
Grind away baby, chase that drop
—Submitted on 04/24/2020
Rebecca Clay lives in Chicago and works in mental health. She studied creative writing at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
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