Quarantine

I want to inhale the virus. I want to swim in it. Surrender cell by cell to uncertainty, unmaking. My heart will stutter. Or not. Stop. Or not. But I would know. Like concrete, like rock, like Rainier, I would know my birthright. Colonized.

I want to walk into traffic. I want to be the woman who wasn't afraid to silence the static with thin red channels, divisions of flesh and sacrifice. A blood goddess. I want to break things. Bones. Glass.

I want to drown. I want to burn.

I want to gasp and stand and scream and make you look.

I want to make you look.