Conversations With the Dead Girl Under My Dining Room Table

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


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white rectangle — a temporary coffin for outdated versions of self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



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

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