Blue Manifesto Letter from the Editor
Playlist
Not Full Enough
Henri Bergson on Possibility and Creation
Prove That You Can't Stay Crumpled on the Bathroom Floor Forever
Sam Ertelt
Example:
Assume the vinyl stinks of lemon and salt. Assume that it is cold like
a metal pole in winter, wrenching your tongue from its base. Assume that
once I placed my ear against it long enough, I was be able to hear the sea.
No, not the sea. The rumble of a tectonic plate shifting. No. The
scheming of my insides to reclaim everything I have ever given up.
Assume all of this — then forget.
Breathe out.
Assume I am lying on the bathroom floor.
Bathroom floor = a sheet of ice that has quieted my hot skin
= not having to look at the mirror again.
= vinyl that stinks of lemon and salt
= rougher on my face than my feet ever knew
= easyish to press my hands against
= pushing back against my bruised shins
= getting farther and farther away
Bathroom floor = slick like guilt and soap underfoot
= reblossomed bruises on the knee that crashes back down
This isn’t working. Let’s start again.
Prove that you can’t stay crumpled on the bathroom floor forever.
Assume I am standing.
Soon I should be able to convince myself
I always was.
Sam Ertelt is currently an MFA candidate at the Sewanee School of Letters. He works at the duPont Library in Sewanee and assists in the Fencing program during the school year. He has been previously published in About Place Journal.