Nic Rueth
Nic Rueth is a writer and an editor at the Great Books Foundation and Another Chicago Magazine. They have work published or forthcoming in Sixty Inches from Center, Rejection Letters, and ACM. You can find more of Nic on Twitter or at nicrueth.com.
Spilling
I’m hesitant—
the meaning
the form
my body takes and gives
in the mirror spilling
hair
fat
gender ed in qualities
(self)
doubting etcetera
I twist and suck
Try to straighten
myself
eliminate
the spillage
I rinse off
I cannot
sit
in this
stick
0n 0r 0ff
Th1s 0r That
1’m th1nking 0f
And
1’m th1nking 0f An 1mag1nary
number
N0 m0re pass1ng
0r n0t
pass1ng
Don’t we all spill
our guts
We’re always spilling—
I realize I am
too much
too much?
too much
but only for this
little
glass
my excess
for you
our spilled
stick
for each other
Hallelujah
How great it is to be alive
Right now. I am supported
By a restlessness beneath
My diaphragm. Up, up, shouting,
I am reminded of eagles
Wings flapping broken near death.
She studies the cockroach,
Now found its own broom closet.
I resign skepticism to
The waste basket, pull the plug
On crushing thoughts, hair in the drain.
So much is ordinary; still
The fiery cocktail breaking against walls
Comes to light.
Have you checked the attic?
The childhood dolls are gathering dust.
Crisp yells of hallelujahs, the shower
Strings breaking on riot’s backs.
Echoes occupy the corridors,
Fire escapes, icy sidewalk melt.
To capture a scream, you must inhabit
The fire. How hot it is to be alive
Right now. Blood to the cheeks
Of a cut, let run.