from the security of my soft, warm vantage point,

complete with down, tea, reassurance, privilege,

I experience accident after accident

relentless attacks on my body and soul

every night and day.

the crunch and scream of metal, imagined inertia

as the bones, tendons, fibers of my being

bounce against the force of a blow

all too powerful.

snap, crack, pop of the tender, breaking human form

as a step is misstepped

a random act of violence

a freak accident I can no longer escape-

searing, blinding pain of skin or heart

a burn of any sort, emotional, physical

tears through my soul and destroys the sweet comfort i’ve always known

into a life I've only observed.

from the security of my soft, warm vantage point,

my life is consumed by fear

and every moment awake is a nightmare

but when i sleep, all is well. in sleep, I am brave.

Grace was running late to her appointment (a social one, but an appointment nonetheless). After her shower, she had lost track of time as she puttered around the tiny apartment, taking time to apply her makeup, tiding up in the kitchen, her hair wrapped high in towel on her head, drying slowly. It seemed her hair was getting longer every day, she thought to herself as she tossed the damp towel on the bed and shook out her still-wet locks across her shoulders. She crossed the small room in only a few steps, slipping off her faux silk robe as she went, tossing it on top of the abandoned towel. Her fingers carelessly forked through her wet hair as she opened the closet door and bent down to see her options for clean clothes, thoughtless to the open curtains that let in the smallest bit of winter light. There was no regard for the row of windows across the street that housed strangers, probably home on a Saturday, maybe enjoying their morning coffee, and quite possibly seeing right into her room and all of her, naked except for a pair of pink bejeweled zebra print socks. when she did think about this, she thought of it like a child might- if I can’t see them, they can’t see me.

She didn’t need to worry about being too cold because of the unseasonable warmth of the last few February weeks (except that one random blizzard). A favorite sweater, black and knitted, imported to Berlin from Los Angeles and then worn back to Prague on a cheap student bus, made the cut and was tossed on a corner of the bed. Conscious of the time, she pivoted on a socked foot and dug out high-waisted trousers from the dirty clothes hamper, which landed with the sweater on the unmade bed. Her wet hair would have to continue drying under her hat, she decided, and as she pulled a plain knitted beanie onto her head she dipped lower to grab the last article needed, rummaging around the loosely assigned underwear shelf in the cheap plastic wardrobe from Ikea. The normal choice, pale blue boy shorts, were out. The pants were much too tight for anything other than a thong or commando. Deeper into the collection of socks, leggings, and panties the hand explored, finally pulling a lacy thong out of the throng. It was the kind she always thought she would wear as an adult when she had her life together, the kind of panties she imagined a young, sexy, and interesting woman would wear, and she didn’t actually wear them very often. Maybe she didn’t find herself quite worthy. She paused, holding the underwear in one hand, straightening her posture, naked except for the tired black hat and zebra socks.

The best time she had worn this pair of underwear was with Rico, cheekily waiting for him to discover them underneath the oversized Levi’s that had belonged to her late Uncle. The smallest of smiles dared to appear at the corner of her lips as she recalled him kissing her gently that afternoon, moving slowly down her chest, belly, and unbuttoning the row of metal clasps keeping him from her bare skin. He stopped when he saw the lace under the coarse denim, sitting high on her hips, and looked up at her to exclaim ‘wow!’ she had laughed out loud, the noisy and full hearted laugh she had when something hit her humor. It might have been so funny to her because she typically didn’t bother with undergarments to begin with, and if she did it was usually for decencies sake when a dress was a too short or a top too sheer. It might have been so funny because she knew he really couldn’t care less what she was wearing because he wanted whatever it was off of her. She grabbed him under his shoulders and pulled him to her for a kiss, quite pleased with herself. Rico, meanwhile, was just as humored at the antics of the woman he found himself loving, one hand holding her messy brown hair as they kissed, the other playfully exploring the parts of her around the lace. he tried to memorize taste of her kiss- unfiltered American spirits and eucalyptus and something else essentially her. In no time at all the lacy underwear was on the floor under a crumpled pile of denim, with her hands in his hair as he committed the other tastes she had to his memory.

Grace shook her head and the small smile turned into a frown. She bent low and lifted each leg to slide the panties on, looking down in quick approval before dressing herself completely and running out the door, disappointed that she still thought so much about Rico after all the times he told her they couldn’t stay in touch. Across the street, an old woman could see her getting dressed from her kitchen window and muttered that the girl really should close her curtains, but wondered at the same time if she had someone to admire the lovely panties she was wearing under her clothes.

irrational, illogical, the worry sets in

the normal, the happiness retreats as

the slow fog riddles my soul with holes

like a woodpecker storing acorns in the

side of my home one at a time until

the walls are no more

and one strong breeze might just make it collapse

but still i stay

a prisoner with no escape

thinking i can choose what to say, when to stay

but can i? or is this just a game

that our condition insists upon

traditions resists the breaking open of a

bond to our past, our history that holds us back

from our potential, our true will,

when we have so many people to care

for, to be responsible

for, and our own crippling doubt

that maybe this isn't where i need to be right now