how?

it’s like the sound

of a memory

playing in the background

like you’ve walked

into a room,

10 years ago

and upset the equilibrium

you can’t hear it

if you turn your head

slightly,

but you can feel it in your gut

pulsating from inside of you

ready to burst

I would reach out

if I could

but calls are so far gone

and messages can’t convey

what nervousness

and thought will not

let through,

..come through..

how do I say?

– Sheila C.

top 40 in an uber, November 2018

there is something cathartic

about crying hysterically

in the back of an uber

while the driver glances over

at the rear view and nervously

digs through the top 40

attempting to ignore you

while Mariah Carey tell us

all she wants for christmas

and it’s “you”

John is not a great driver

but he’s a good companion

he knows that I am not okay

and he doesn’t need to ask

he lands on a song

about moving on

and ISNT IT IRONIC

i thought i had emerged

burial shroud

in hand

ready for the WHOLE world

but tonight I am liable to dig

a hole and shove my face

in first

John glances back and says finally

“Hey, I’m sorry to… uh.. interrupt but I just wanted to say.. maybe take a breath??”

that’s very sweet but

breathing in is hard

with a mouth full of

dirt, John.

-Sheila C.

fuzz

I felt a fuzz

not in my head

not like the fuzz of heat

in the summer with the hot swell

rising from the concrete

but a literal fuzz

I see him crawling

up my arm

and inching

closer to my head

years ago,

I would’ve killed him

i was fresh

i didn’t understand life

it’s no excuse

i feel it now

i place a fork near him

and watch him crawl onto it

sensing escape?

he is happy today

“okay fuzz” i say

god was kind today

– sheila c.

anyway

I unhinged the cabinets

and left the doors

by the steps

i thought we could use them

to close up the holes

in the family room

my grief is hardened

and it’s “fuck all anyway”,

you said.

I can save the china

and take it with me

I guess

– sheila c.

full

the glass in the backseat

has been clinking

for the past few hours

of gravel and flashes

a toast has been held for 3 state lines

I think I am losing my mind

my window is covered in dead bodies

and their wings

the sky is dripping into the forest

and I am attempting to collect drops

I want to fill myself with the trees

I want to be the straw-man of this place

I want to open the door

stretch out my bones

and slide into green

– sheila c.

prayers

I think about my grandmothers prayers

under a sunburst ceiling

it was an old blood color

sort of red brown and muddied

I think she wanted my freedom

and god couldn’t see another way

I clearly can’t give life

I’m all dead leaves inside

a manufactured product

of a man who did not hold me

i can’t use your god’s tools

they were never meant for me

– Sheila Cordova