talking to strangers*
late one night as the bar is closing
someone i was talking to asks my name
& though
[we have very little in common /
i never want to see them again /
i hate my name]
i tell them anyway
then i lean close and whisper
I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM
it’s true (what they say)
i barely live here
i barely live anywhere
self portrait as panic attack*
the house is on fire & i can’t find the cat & i’m late for an important meeting but i don’t know what i’ll say though i’m not sure i care because it’s my birthday & i can cry if i want to & i had a party but no one came so i let the candles burn forever which is how we got here with the room on fire & instead of running from danger i’m remembering the sound of other people’s voices & how i miss them unless of course we’re in a crowded room with everything happening at once & nothing makes sense & then someone bumps me so hard i spill my drink & everyone stares in unbelievable silence as i burst into tears & use my clothes to clean the mess or what about that feeling of something brushing your ankle in a murky lake you fell into from a boat of questionable sturdiness & you shudder & scream for help just before being pulled under & now i can’t breathe for the water & i can’t breathe for the smoke as the fire swallows the landscape & turns my life’s work to ash & a man is standing over me asking if i am okay but i don’t know where i am or how the answers all came so easily before i was ever asked a question & how i was breathing fine until we were left alone & i saw the news today & i saw the news today & i saw the news today & i saw the news today & i saw the news today & i’m not sure what else i’m supposed to think about i’m not sure where this poem is going or why i write poems at all & i wonder if instead of writing poems i should be screaming then maybe everyone would know something is terribly wrong & do something what if we all screamed outside of the prisons & embassies & courthouses & banks & police stations what if we screamed inside of corporate offices & board rooms & internment camps & anywhere children are caged like animals & anywhere animals are bagged up like trash & what if we screamed at the whitehouse & in the bedrooms of the super rich & in the factories & warehouses that don’t pay a living wage & in every government office what if we screamed until we collapsed do you think nothing would change do you think we’ll ever be free
courtney marie is a writer & artist based in denton, texas. they are the author of don’t get your hopes up (2018, Thoughtcrime Press) and songs we used to dance to (2022, Goliad Media). cm enjoys making weird & sentimental art with/for their community, exploring the world, and playing pinball. they live with three cats, cry all the time, and are forever writing letters & sending snail mail in a desperate attempt to connect with the outside world. they are the co-founder & director of the artist collective spiderweb salon.
*Printed with permission from the author. These poems appear in songs we used to dance to
theboilerjournal.com 