For the Telling

To say that I am a walking contradiction would a capital offense cliché
I wear this face for you,
a smile, maybe a laugh or two
Letting you know that "hey, everything is ok over here"
But you only need to dig a little to find the truth
Place you spade under my 4th or 5th rib, twist
and a crack that was once an inch and half long becomes a hole the size of the Missouri
Letting out rivers of everything that’s ever been wrong
Here's another one to add to the charges
I'm an open book
With a broken spine, pages fluttering in the wind
Stories, I believe, are for telling

- Dain Michael Downs

Today

I fiddle, fidget, and fumble
I chew on my bottom lip
Crack my lefthand knuckles under my chin
Shifting my weight from foot to foot

Cryptomnesia

Um-Nadia thinks about it a moment. “That too. But I mean insomnia first. Where you sit up at night trying to think of silly things like, where did I put my old husband, what happened to my blue pants, why does my hand hurt, and so on et cetera.”
- Crescent, Diana Abu-Jaber