cross-hatched

-

 there is a white background behind me. 

the absence of darkness compels me forward, up stage left. 

I am surrounded by the scribbling of a lunatic

a twitter post written at midnight.

 

The pencils quickly sketch me from the waist up

I have no feet or ankles or knees

no flared hips that the old women worship

no legs to propel me forward, up stage right.

 

My diamond chin, the slant of my nutty eyes

Nutty but like a paste, an almond sweet flavored flatly

break the crust, like you do under the river bridges

and smile, like you do when the money's tight. 


The hair billows, pensive and thoughtful and empty

a space to be filled in, upward strokes, downward strokes

a swimmer going upstream, against the grain

it falls over my skull and lays across my line of sight.

 

I see nothing, for I am a silhouette against a cross-hatched background

the noise of the paper and the lead makes me scream

I'm heard amongst the silence that is this white space

and perhaps for a moment I can break free of this existential fright

and come into color. 

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