Open Fire in Deep Belly
There is a hint of running
away that I am in need of:
to pack a bag, to rush,
to miss a taxi and curse it.
I am in need of telling
someone that I've missed
my flight but the next one comes
in an hour while my breath fidgets
out like a child from her seat.
This day is turning me out
to be a runner. I mean to be
calm but instead my thighs rub raw
and I raise my fists to the sky
and catch myself in the window
of a thrift store—my eyes
red and I am nothing but salt.
I wave off the reflection. I wave
on another taxi and get in
for the millionth time
so that I can be somewheres
plucking petals from my drink
and sucking what remains
from the ice cubes. I've picked
up my pen nine times today
and have only drawn the outline
of my hand for my children.
I know that when they ask
of me this is all they'll want.
About the Author: Rashida Williams was born and raised in Connecticut and is a recent transplant to New York City. She has been writing poetry by way of music since she was a young teenager. She is searching for passion in every part of this thing we call life and for ways in which others can experience said passion through her writing. Rashida is currently pursuing an MFA in creative writing with a concentration in poetry at Columbia University School of the Arts.