Dissonance

If you could choose 

one emotion to call 

into the office of self,

tell it, “This is never easy, 

you brought us so much 

in your time here, 

but this is about time

and how little I have

to keep giving you any,” 

which emotion 

would it be? 

If you feel life works best 

when you squeeze your heart 

like an IV bag in your fists, 

port 

curled to hook, 

no nurse 

at the thumbwheel, 

not one stain 

left in its plastic, if so, 

do you feel 

like you had a choice 

in what your best life 

could look like? 

How long can you 

keep talking 

about removal 

and choices 

and what each carves away 

before emotion takes back 

everything

that it wants? 

IV Bag (pastels on construction paper, May 30, 2020)