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Prove That You Can't Stay Crumpled on the Bathroom Floor Forever
by 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.