Angrr

Angrr:

Tiger in the chest
Claws out.

Body Blocking

His illness is written on my body.

Eating excessively for the past six months, I've gained forty pounds, accumulating layers of fat. I tie my intestines in square knots, turn my emotions into sausages, blocking, holding on.

As if I become heavy enough, weighty enough, I might anchor him in place.

Knock Knock

Scurrying, nibbling, hiding. That's the Rat in the Walls. Knocking about at night, avoiding the light, coveting the cheese.

You only see the leavings: the dry little kernels that trace Rat's passage through your cupboards; the holes gnawed behind your stove. The fruits of your labor, tooth-marked, scattered.

The Rat lurks in your back brain.