In Medias Res (The Chapbook)

We shall begin

where all the good epics begin—

in the middle.

Mid res, if you will.

With a desperate, one-worded question:

“Momma?”

Followed by three declarative words:

“I love you.”

And all that is left unsaid:

Why am I scared of everything?

Will you be able to save me?

Will it ever end?

I’m so tired, Momma.

I can’t do this anymore.

So we begin

in the middle of the action—

the unbuckling of a belt,

the ding of an untethered soul,

the whispered whoosh

of fresh autumn air

almost undetected,

almost—

but for the subtle shift in pressure

The harbinger of death

appears at your window,

whispering sweet enticements.

He offers you everything

your broken heart desires:

a dreamless sleep,

pitch-black nothingness,

an escape from a world

that is too much—

and not enough—

simultaneously.

So we begin again,

in the middle of honking horns

In the middle of you jumping from our car

in the middle of the freeway

in the middle of the week

in the middle of the month:

Tuesday, November 15th.