On Becoming Strangers
Updated: Sep 28
By Alexandra Smereka
Prisoner of your murmur, honey, my swollen tongue tingles as I take deep breaths into the sea foam and again once more, float into the sea foam stardust and on again and again with the waves of your voice.
This is an indigo dream and the savage taste of gravel as I wake alone, needing miles of string to get out of this maze.
I’m running out of things to say to you, so I’ve resorted to finding them on the street, rummaging through the dead leaves on the curb to find one that’s still alive. Get an AED, I know CPR, just breathe and push thirty compressions for every two breaths, I can’t breathe when it’s you, someone please push some sense into me so I can pull you back from God, he doesn’t need you like I do.
If I fall from this height, I’ll surely break the window, and more than that, but at least the museum is across the street, my body a new art installation, a different kind of stained glass.
The artist is unknown, but certainly died penniless. I couldn’t help but spend all my thoughts on you.
Alexandra Smereka is studying English and Music at Wayne State University and has been thrice published in the Wayne Literary Review.