I'm the floor in the lodge.
I made myself,
but I can't breathe.
I struggle to see out the window,
but there isn't one.
I wear expensive stitches
with saying threads;
they overwhelm me,
heavy like an oriental rug,
because they aren't there.
My tongue is a cage.
My jaw is twisted shut,
too tight for my face.
When I try to open it,
snakes crawl out,
not what some people think.
But today I got a letter.
It wasn't real.
It tore itself open.
It played a game with me,
made me dizzy, and my jaw
broke the screws.
No words came, no wind or walking sky.
The cage is made of floorboards,
but I'm not trapped.
-Candace Osterhout
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