A Poem Found On A Piece Of Floor

A Poem by Noah Zuniga

the intolerable tension of childhood depression

The carpet of my room is the skin I pick
A greyish morass, the ashy complexion of
a gothic statue that broods
I rip strings off this body without organs, I imagine
it’s my own hair and it doesn’t hurt, every piece is
a scrap, a Dickenson poem where inscribed is the rage
I want to hurl at him, every time the garage door
rattles open, every time the blankness of an unsatisfied
demeanor trundles in, scanning for an atom
ungratefully out of place
But the strings stay scattered about in my room,
nothing more than the injury of a cat’s claws
they pass inspection
and as he walks by, the words inside them
scream like a clenched fist