{To you know who,
wherever you are,
I hope
you keep on writing.
- C}
- Part 3 -
Dough
I saw God
shoving pizza into her mouth,
grease dripping
like a tear
down her chin that she
wiped with her backhand while
racing crust number five to her lips
without
so much as a
breath.
Bread for
breathing;
dough
rolled into a circle.
Round and
round and
round we go -
a metaphor for her life.
Eat.
Work.
Hide.
I took God’s
pizza lightly -
a trivial pursuit,
a trivial tale
spinning into mine...
my own trivial pursuit.
She
takes a
breath.
Bread for
breathing;
dough
rolled into a circle.
Round and
round and
round we go -
a metaphor for her life.
Drink.
Bottle up.
Shame.
God spoke of
pizza which
Uncle OSAP paid for
(so giving,
but not quite forgiving),
who taught
her how to
consume
with every
breath.
Bread for
breathing;
dough (the only type she knows)
rolled into a circle.
Round and
round and
round we go -
a metaphor for her life.
Swallow.
Shoot up.
Silence.
All God wanted
was a simple story,
but pizza was the metaphor
for her life -
the only one she shared,
unlike
her countless others,
rotting
under the dough,
pushing on her lungs,
gasping for a
breath.
I ask God
if she feels healthy
shoving pizza down her throat...
She wants to write,
but the only
story she can throw up is
pizza:
her life, her
breath.
Bread for
breathing;
dough
rolled into a circle.
Round and
round and
round we go -
a metaphor for her life.
Look.
Pause.
Breathe.
Share.
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