These are games one must first answer
by Haylee Millikan
One step may not excruciate but I
am boulder-heaving with arthritic knees.
Numb hands still push—palms needling pustuled
stone curve. Sure, he was tricky, but Sisyphus
must’ve been a pussy: far worse punishments
than monotony, more intense tortures
than rolling alone. I would’ve made him
a sex worker with a gag-reflex-but-swal-
low-anyways mentality. Give me
any power and watch as the round world
becomes a ball. Unceremonious
absurdity, opposing truths— if I
carry weaponry it is library card
and butterfly knife. I maim to relieve.
Who cares whether we exist, as long as
I can sense the pin my neurologist
drags over my shins; there’s some kind of truth
in this prick. It’s involuntarily
intimate. I spit blue paint on magpies
and hold up mirror: of course I want to
see myself in them seeing themselves.
I struggle remembering my first glimpse
of this body, every undressing
becomes déjà vu; home is nowhere sav-
ing this skin. Preening is futile if
it’s not your reflection.
Haylee Millikan is a poet originally from Spokane. Haylee’s work focuses on themes of intimacy, disability, self, & the elusive concept of home, and is featured or forthcoming in Sunspot Lit, Equinox, Litro, Beyond Words, Susie Magazine, Textploit, pioneertown., and others. They currently reside in Long Beach with their two Flatbush rescue cats.
Photo by Fabian Reitmeier on Pexels.com.
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