Dayna Troisi
SCRIBBLED ON AN ENVELOPE WHILE THE 1812 OVERTURE BLARES IN THE BACKGROUND
I need to grab onto something or I’ll run right out of this waiting room,
straight to the gas station and ask for a pack of Newport’s
I really like Marlboros but I can’t pronounce them
I swallow the letters
Smoking the world’s shittiest cigarettes because I’m too nervous
to spit out the word"Marlboro".
I need to grab onto something or
I’ll start getting paranoid about lung cancer.
The curved metal edge of the chair feels like a finger coiled
Around mine. I link my pointer tight with it.
Comfort me, lover,
No moving.
Classical music is supposed to be calming
But to me, it sounds like"You’re anxious! "
The books say Do Not Remove From Office: Property Of Doctor
The 1812 overture grows louder
I get ready for the crushing and twisting in my chest
And the chair squeezes my finger tighter, in cold sympathy.
* * *
BORN THIS WAY
My ribs will still have words
Long after my jaw unhinges
The dirt will read
My proclamation to the earth on top of me
Worms will decipher the inky language of my bones
Like marker on a bathroom wall,
I was here, I was here.
* * *
GUILT
I tried to give a homeless man the pretzels in my Hello Kitty purse. He didn’t want them.
My grandma explained that he wanted money for drugs. "Don’t talk to bums ever again," she said.
No shoes, hands or coat
Singing praise to our God
Keep walking
Dayna Troisi is a freelance writer, poet and teacher. Her work has been published in Vice, Buzzfeed, Racked,
Jezebel, Broadly and elsewhere. Her main projects include poems and nonfiction essays that engage with feminism,
queer experience and disability justice.
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