In ninth grade geography, we conducted a survey on carbon footprints. An exercise in hyperbole. I pretended to be as environmentally friendly as possible \u2014 recycling, low electricity consumption, compost, water usage and other categories I had, in actuality, put little effort into. I \u201chad\u201d the smallest footprint in the class. A na\u00efve classmate looked at me with admiration. That year, I made a New Year\u2019s resolution to \u201chelp the planet.\u201d That was six years ago.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know what day it is. A music festival livestream runs on my laptop. The night broadcast of SportsCenter <\/em>on the TV. Both are only on just to avoid the tinnitus. I only get up from my bed when my bladder can\u2019t take it, dragging myself to the bathroom. When I wash my hands, I leave the tap on while I soap and lather, making sure to get in the fingernails and between the fingers, and a bit on the wrist.<\/p>\n Eventually I pass out with the lights on. When I wake I shower until I no longer feel the cold of the morning. I write my name on the fogged-up mirror. I keep the tap running as I brush my teeth.<\/p>\n A few weeks ago, I read an article that said we’ve reached the point of no return. This is unsustainable. This?<\/em> All of it. Consumption. Everyone knows this deep down. All we can do is have a laugh with it \u2014 use it in plots for movies. No one wants to stare into a tunnel with no light at the end.<\/p>\n A knock on the door. I look through the peephole and see her. The usual concerned look, arms folded. I turn out the lights quietly and wait. When I hear her leave, I think: Am I getting enough Vitamin D? <\/em>I open the blinds, slip out onto the balcony and smoke up.<\/p>\n Back inside. An altered state. There is nothing outside these walls. I engage in personal experiments. Flail around the house, no technique or inhibition, until my arms tremble and I drop.<\/p>\n Before, words were powerful when stacked, accumulated. Sediment makes mountains and pages make books and theses. Wise words are the foundation for our thoughts, and thoughts translate into action. This is how it was.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n I. hospice<\/p>\n my hand, worn and wrinkled, moving, in this room _____<\/span>even that potted plant must be finally the arm takes off \u2014 ____________<\/span>I am ____________<\/span>I will pretend my thirties, framed in the mind past the light now, outstretched arm comes to rest I wish I could be typical breathe in\/out collapse outward, and spread <\/p>\n II. sunlight<\/p>\n I am in my hometown, in that old house I cover the sunlight _______<\/span>roll onto my bed,<\/p>\n _____________<\/span>and dream <\/p>\n <\/p>\n MIGUEL LEANDRO GAMBOA<\/strong>\u00a0is awake when you’re asleep, and vice-versa. If seen, he is likely sleep deprived and should not be disturbed. Find him on Twitter\u00a0@migyarados<\/a>.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Crisis In ninth grade geography, we conducted a survey on carbon footprints. An exercise in hyperbole. I pretended to be as environmentally friendly as possible \u2014 recycling, low electricity consumption, compost, water usage and other categories I had, in actuality,… Continue Reading Seconds<\/strong><\/h1>\n
\nsearching for
\n__________<\/span>a sign of life<\/p>\n
\nthere is only light, air, the bed,
\nand walls<\/p>\n
\n_____<\/span>synthetic
\n_____<\/span>it is not fragrant or tended to<\/p>\n
\nextension, an achievement, however little<\/p>\n
\n____________<\/span>trembling<\/p>\n
\n____________<\/span>the plant is real<\/p>\n
\nthose years are long past
\nI remember again \u2014<\/p>\n
\nit is happening
\nand there is no one here with me<\/p>\n
\neyes look at nowhere in particular
\nhand floats downward
\nthe tremors of the body cease<\/p>\n
\n_____<\/span> \u201coh, my child\u201d
\n_____<\/span> \u201clove each other,\u201d surrounded
\n__ ___<\/span>but this is enough<\/p>\n
\nand the walls of this dark room<\/p>\n
\n__________________________<\/span>as if in bloom<\/p>\n
\nthere are children running outside
\nsupper will be ready in a minute, says mother
\nbut I stumble past her
\nup the stairs, through my bedroom door<\/p>\n
\nwith my arm, so easily moved
\n__________________________<\/span>without thought,<\/p>\n
\n___________________<\/span>of flight<\/p>\n
\n
\n