on holes

Jillian Prendergast. Writer.

We stopped in a small town in Texas for gas and chips. Everywhere Trump signs, tractors, and those camo buffs that wouldn’t ever block a sneeze. The faucet was leaking in the women’s bathroom. I tightened the levers as hard as I could, but it kept drip-dripping.

I wished it well, walked out and we kept driving east

I read Bell Hooks and she talks of loving oneself radically, underneath the burden of a patriarchaldesign. She writes that women are taught they are better at loving, which is dangerously untrue. What they learn is that they are better at folding the laundry and compromising the definition.

I see it and then I don’t, like the squiggly lines behind my eyes when I look at the sun.It is unwise to ingest everything as real, even things you know to be true.

My boss tells me that psychic empaths have holes inside…

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