Molly Belfield, Innerworkings

Innerworkings

Molly Belfield

I used to believe the blood that pumped through me was blue. Reaching air, it would turn red, moments before my eyes could see it. I used to think if I plucked a hair out, one would never grow in that spot again. The grass below my blanket begs to return to the underbelly of the earth. I don’t greet the sun enough when they make occasional visits to Eugene.

Nothing consumes me anymore. I used to think my dog had it out to get me. The trees’ heart beats in unison, as if an orchestra binds their bodies together. Burying my hands in the soil, I am early to a party I was not invited to. I used to tell people these things. I used to think I could talk to ants yet curiosity brought a magnifying glass to my palm and willed me to burn them too.

I am guilty of living while being so under-lived. I fight tooth and nail to reclaim the body I reside in. A mosaic of all the stories my mind has digested. If blood was blue would it be cold as well? I used to wear shorts but I stopped in high school.

The chatter in my head never ceases, I am always alone but never lonely. I used to think peace was a birthright. Papercuts make me cringe but the iron taste is addicting. I used to want to place myself on a bookshelf. Why is it when I close my eyes and face the sun, I see red?