Mia Harrison
omen #1
(she does a sleepy pirouette beneath the kitchen table)
It starts in a dream the dream
where you realize Rome
is synonymous with home for two
months
mistakes are opportunities
dues are due
was your mind ever laid to rest
does your body ever
omen #2
(the window in the living room bursts open amidst a still breeze)
black body—unclosed in a white rectangle
white rectangle — a temporary coffin for outdated versions of self
bed — flesh against the blank wall feet — dangling over the
edge; the fabric of your existence
there are two I’s in identity but which one am I
demons enter through your feet when you sleep there’s nothing to anchor your thoughts
omen #3
(a fine-tooth hairbrush goes missing, it had three strands of hair threaded between its bristles)
sleep is the cousin of death
death is tripping on memories which haunt you tripping
on insecurities lodged in between cobblestones
attune to the rhythms of the
Earth’s rotation;
the cars bumping onto wet cobblestone
weeping may endure for a night
but joy cometh in the morning
omen #4
(white polaroid camera goes missing)
eyes tilt up to watch God
God stares back at the golden body bloated with
sunshine floating
unaware of the thin membrane that keeps you from drowning;
translucent indigo shimmering with each inhale— the float of
the living
go deeper and when you think you’ve gone deep enough go
deeper dive deep into that layer of you that you’ve hidden from
yourself
omen #5
(J has a dream resulting in sleep paralysis, the Little Girl hovers over her)
your feet keep moving but your mind freezes
it freezes as you unthaw your emotions
excavating the past
lifting the lost flavors from the time you stopped writing
the time you remembered your dad saying
“pick em up, put em down”
they say the devil sits on your chest and that’s why you can’t move
you can’t move because you haven’t tried yet
omen #6
(J has another dream we are all in her room with the little girl, she calls out for me and I tell her to relax and sink into the next level)
dust is in the air
air is not light, but dense with baked sweat and caked dirt —
the release of yesterdays and tomorrows sin self-portraits
turned into a mask of false promises eye is to mind
what ear is to heart
what is justice
paint the picture inside of my skull
human response to what humans have made
the fragility of civilization. But, God is law
God is law but money gets in the way
you awake from the dream yelling “don’t let me disappear, let me appear”
eye to heart ear to mind
Clamor 