Mercy

mercy turns over, her legs entangled in three layers of blankets

and her shirt is twisted around her waist

the neckline taut across her neck

shoulders tense as she presses her fingers into the tight spot

above her shoulder blade because pain likes pain—

she blindly feels around for her lamp

finds it and taps it on,

her brain refusing to be quiet

so she entertains its whims

allowing it to wander unsupervised

as she drags her teeth across her top lip

removing the dry, dead skin in the middle

that never fails to form daily—

she pushes herself off her belly

off her bed with chapped hands

grabbing a stick of vanilla incense to light

as she fumbles with the matches

the first two breaking and then success,

crawling back into bed

resting her fingers in front of her right ear

feeling the pulse of the temporal artery—

as she tries to will her body back to sleep.

-Kristen Mattison

27 January 2024, 12:50 am