an episodically published poem
link to beginning
I don’t feel very well
there’s no air
the room is spinning
I smell old coffee
last week’s orange peels
and rotting sardines
applying makeup
makes me feel
queasy as if
I’ll get out on stage
and lose my lunch
all over the first row
I want to go home
but I love theatre
too much to miss
a performance
I just wish
I could go out there
and get it over with
this feeling of
giving birth
every night
It’s the same thing:
morning sickness
contractions
fear of the inevitable
and then absolute joy
is there a lineup at the john
What’s my first line
