Three New Pieces by Quinlan Gilbert

When I was a kid…

When I was a kid they found me in the lost in found, 
Between the turnstiles of clothes in a department store
Clad in overalls so my mother could grab the makeshift handle of the back straps when I tried to run away

I was always running away in public to her chagrin 
Screaming in glee as she gave chase

Some of us enjoy the attention of not so subtle concern I guess

Not to be subtle but it’s hard to concentrate on childhood
Like a neighborhood I don’t remember so well 
Some place I used to live
The feelings live as memories and I mimic the playfulness
But something was taken over the years

Was it a cliche like innocence?
Was it safety being sexually assaulted?
Or was it esoteric?
Losing. Losing luster, the mystery of a world I knew like a book before the conflict arises:
Frodo in the shire
Sam strolling through hobbiton
My glorious open eight year old eyes hearing my father read me chapter books when I struggled with my letters
My words half formed in my claylike mind
Something rotten came out my mouth one day like vomit
When I remembered it all 
But then
Then something beautiful bloomed.

….

After all the work…

After all that work I was naked again
Like a school of fish being pulled out of water by a fishing boat
The class scribbled their pencils
I didn’t notice how fast my heart was racing until I did a pose where I placed my hand there

After all that work I was buying cigarettes with the hundred dollars they paid me for modeling 
The hypnotherapist said if I put my thumb to my forefinger I could feel the inner gnawing cease and unleash the good vibrations inside we had worked on
They lived like hermit crabs in tide pools
Under layers of shame, self loathing & pity 

After all that work I forgot how revealing child’s pose would be, kind of ironic when you think about it

One hundred dollars for two hours of what my partner calls something like exposure therapy unwilling to let me rile in tight angry loathing after the event

Was it commonplace to feel this way?
As if I were a strand of hair in food
Obtuse? overweight? Like an eyelash on an oncology patient drifting to the floor on a draft of heating vent exhaustion
I left feeling perplexed with feeling enough after the class for once
The following days I was sore
Stretched out and cold like the outside of an igloo
Utterly exhausted 
After all that work I ask myself
Did I feel safe?

Then I came home…

I walked for hours because my car was doubled parked in
And then I came home
Watching the sunlight peak through the blinders of day
Before heroin, before recovery, before daylight was a blessing and not a curse to remind me work was on the way 
If only I knew about meditating being useful before the 8balls with one suggestion one clue one rueful fluorescent act of Vulcan mind meld
“Hey bud you should get like way more of this shit”
More.
When I came home from the psych hospital for the first time I was 145 pounds and struggling to tell myself I was confident when I was alone driving down that same road I walked one night
More
Like oooo way ooo I feel just like buddy holly
Played in the Jetta on my old cds from high school
If I knew how to let it out I would have
Tears tearing through the deep maroon walls in my heart space stuck, constipated with effluent emotions like homesick longing and beatboxing curses and vitriol
I wanted more food when I got home
I wanted more family
Life was simple
The runs in the rain before cigarettes
The moving meditation as I called it
When I wasn’t running from anything but towards an unreachable destination…
And when I got home sweaty and drenched
My persistence was beautiful