Janitor’s Closet – Julie Weiss

Haunting writing from Julie Weiss

Blood Into Ink

I never realized
darkness contained mass.
Mrs. Doyle,
my Physics teacher,
would be dumbfounded.
It feels like
a stack of bricks
on my chest,
crushing my lungs.
Oxygen comes slowly,
in dusty wisps; death
by suffocation
is strangely alluring—
millions of atoms drifting
out of one´s body
and fusing with
the atmosphere—
when you compare it
to the alternative.
But maybe the bit of air
is a gift, a reassuring wink,
a miracle.
Maybe science is mistaken
and there is a God
on the other side
who hasn´t forsaken us.
“Silent darkness,”
it turns out,
is an oxymoron—
who´d have thought
a word from Mr. García´s
AP English class
would come in so handy,
in a closet, of all places?
It weeps, it whispers, it pleads,
but not really,
only in the realm of metaphor.
Jade—head cheerleader and
last year´s prom queen—
crouched on my right,
keeps whimpering

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