Projector switched on & I’m staring at the center of the wall

like Danny Torrence from the shining: I am being pressed into

like a thumb dealing with the dimple of a nectarine to be

bitten. Back of my sweater pilling from the brick walls of a

cabin & stuck like velcro. Snow from another’s hand brushed

on my cheek like

sugar. They recoil like a lantern. Low light gives my pupils

shimmer & they say out of icy clouds “you’ve got eyes from

the movies—your dark iris rings spin like an anxious cat—

are you okay?”. I remember

every time I’ve been asked if I’m okay—especially when my

cousin-in-law asked me on the escalator. I must’ve looked like

a feverish marshmallow holding that Kmart shopping bag. I

can’t help that my face is carved & engraved from mood rings.