As I lie in bed, I feel my body.
Literally I touch it.
And feel it.
Atrophy.
Petrify.
Modify.
Tree.
I have been in this job too long.
I creep out of bed in the morning, a mess of vines
Veins fading into woodwork.
I stumble to the train
Out of the station to my desk
And then I stupefy.
Horrify.
Edify.
Terrify.
Tree.
I morph into something bigger. A large trunk, some branches. I cover my whole desk. I root myself in the floor. Clasping the carpet with delicate filaments searching for the moisture left by sweaty feet. Leaves. The computer gets absorbed in. Seen and then unseen. As if nature is claiming me back from all this technology. The lights flicker on the screen inside of me. Flicker again. Flicker out.
I thirst. In the bright sunshine. Through the glass in the window. I thirst. I am a tree. I wait for the water. I never knew how thirsty a tree could be. Not hunger, just thirst. I see people work around me. I grow outward and upward and no one knows what to do. I hear them talking, feel the voices vibrate in my leaves.
And then, then it rains.
I see it splash on the window.
Sweet delicious water. I grow.
Up.
Up.
Up.
Through the ceiling.
Heavier and heavier on that floor.
I drink my fill.
I teeter.
I totter.
Teeter, totter.
And then I crash downward with the weight of it all. I work on the seventh floor. Down I plummet through six floors of masonry. False floor after false ceiling after false floor in a false world. I fall down, down, down and the building crashes around me. I can hear the vibration of people screaming in the rain.
I teeter.
I totter .
I let myself fall sideways.
Onto the pavement.
All over the road.
Then I feel myself again.
Literally, I touch my arms, my legs.
I am no longer a tree.
I sit on the pavement.
I am wearing yellow.
It is sunshine again.
I look around me.
Chaos.
Destruction.
Devastation.
I get up and walk away.
I guess I really needed that.
A Tuesday Latte 