The Only Thing My Body Would Do Is Close My Eyes And Nod Once; Body: go to sleep; Still – Three Poems by Indo-Guyanese Writer, Emily Ram

The Only Thing My Body Would Do Is Close My Eyes And Nod Once

from 3:52P.M to 3:53P.M.

Grayscale furniture line forgiving floors
and plead to be moved. Pondering
circles scheduled parental pick-ups calls
intruded with broken copy machine(s)
leads to raised eyebrows. Excited to see
that in after-hours and 42 Tabs a breath
of quiet relief speaks. “Hi!” Casually.
Cautiously breathing; seemingly seeing
monotonous patterns break loose officing
in the office. Offering an avenue of conversation
reluctancy deems true with an attempt to run cover.
Discovering trembling quiver as told to start

recounting alienates this accident. No
cooperation. Countlessly blinks on
dust particles. The outside chokes
on stuffy transitions;
tranquility resonates throughout stiff bones.
Hesitates. Intrusion releases tension
after two suspicious glances of eloquence
elegantly recovers hesitancy through
routine checks casually.

A visualized cry to step inside follows
soothe and steady. Sit, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Body: go to sleep

I need permission to keep my eyes open.
Sleep deprived.
It's 2:46 A.M. / jaw opens ferociously /
torturing shut my mouth

two feet away sluggish freedom
as lay you on edge
years I ponder finding comfort on couches
coaching myself Iced Black Espressos from 7 A.M

From 2:48 A.M to 2:49 A.M. / Wheels round towards straights of neon lighting paths;
endless tracks meets astigmatism
Flickers blurred in fourth and back
It's okay; there's only 3 hours and 25 minutes left

Registered idea a half before / drowsiness takes the passenger seat.
No / Re-engines neck posture straight towards street signs.

3:04 A.M. again. / Fog disrupts a stigmatized road straight ahead.
Cannot see signs.

It's 3:14 a.m. /Head up tilts. Li-
cense plate blurry
Nice stars

Headlights on the count of three.
3,
2,
sleep

Still

A gap between a period and a comma
pressures arise – speaking full structured soliloquies
energy waves travel through thunder smoke on Tuesday morning
internalizing what seems to be it one last time.
Crest toothpaste; extra whitening power
bristles of soft strength drag back and forth across tooth enamel
clenching mint spoken theories of final imaginary thought
internalizing what seems to be it.
Sky blue hues of scented washing detergent spill gradually
into the machine. Spin and spin mixing with fuming steam
ridding Staphylococcus and mold spores from cotton-textured fabric
internalizing what seems to be.
White plastic spork hardened through polymerized chemicals
tears away cheap plastic, jabs what remains through organic eggs.
After 6.3 minutes the washer hums "Die Forelle" ("The Trout")
internalizing what seems to be [due]
English homework at 11:59 P.M.
pressure flies open a MacBook screen.
Fingertips flutter fabricating thoughts into craft
internalizing what seems
and period. made up my mind.
there’s
stillness
in the
            pause
            and
     still, it
speaks.