I pretend I’m blind so they won’t bother me, but I have been alive just long

enough

To read men even with my eyes closed, hands out, fingers reading the Braille

of sweat

On skin. If Joey wants to talk to me about how I killed his brother,

That’s just fine. Joey can come in and sit beside me, here, on the prison

cot. I would love

To share with him about how the world looks when everything you see is

tinted red,

How even flowers looks suspicious when you’ve just killed a man.

I pretend I’m deaf so they won’t talk to me, but I have been alive just long

enough

To feel someone coming at me through the soles of my feet, to know exactly

When to strike at invisible things. If Joey wants to talk to me about how I

killed his brother,

That’s just fine. Joey can come in and lay down beside me, here, beneath

the stiff white sheets of the prison cot, and I’ll tell him

About how the world sounds when your ears are full of blood

And how even songbirds sound suspicious

when you’ve just killed a man

— Holly Day