I woke up and wanted to be good
by
Z.Z..
Z.Z. is a blueberry enthusiast who also loves Moo Deng, fractals, and jazz.
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Reverie
after Stephen King’s The Gunslinger & Kinsale Drake
When the world ended, I was gutting the belly of a fish.
My hands were soft with lotion, I had just finished with the rice,
I was about to call my mother and say yes to everything when
it happened. The evening before, I’d lain still, back flush against
the hardwood floors, listened to the slow ghost marching up
the stairs. I’d imagined the moons, falling out of the sky, reaching
out to catch them before they seared holes in my palms—
I thought of God, and let His immenseness fill me. Moon eclipsed
itself on my lip and I felt like I could just reach inside me, spoon
out the tough yawns of softness that had settled overnight, and I
suddenly wanted to apologize, then, to every artist I’d ever learned
from, to Adam and Eve, to myself at thirteen, for wanting
a goodness I could not obtain. Go, then, there are other worlds
than these. These were the spares. The extra helpings of rice,
the empty classrooms with no one to fill them, the ones that
didn’t make the cut but they’re just as damn beautiful. So when
the sun exploded, my eyes collected the light. So I hunger.
I follow you into the dark.