A Poem by Kellyanne Fitzgerald
blind spot
the voice of God chills me dumb, but i continue to unload the washing,
pulling out the fragile bits that can’t take the heat of the dryer.
God’s voice sounds like me, put through vocoder up seventy octaves,
and below the ocean. God’s voice is full of undiscovered sharks
and the warm danger of the sun. i shut the washer and press the dryer button.
my mask feels wet, July humidity and the voice of God crawling down
my spine, my hair itching against the fan and the feeling that i can be bought
as cheaply as a shiver. “not now,” i think. “you can wait until i have finished.”
“there is no other time,” says God-me, amused. i try not to think
of all the things lost in the dryer as i sort, the sweaters shrunk,
the beaded top that gave way against the heat, beads slipping from threads
and dashing across the black linoleum like a thousand tiny red planets,
pattern turned to chaos from my own lack of attention. from failing to notice.
the voice of God moves fish-like across my memory, silver minnows tracing
currents in dark grey water. “what do you want” i say, holding my underthings
like an offering. the echo of my voice thuds on the yellow walls, and falls silent.
i shut off the light, glancing at the bulb, and it burns onto my retina,
immediately gone magenta green, luminous black. i look sideways
to escape my vision, the voice of God, the blindness of where light has been.
i take the basket, and leave the laundry to spin, heavy and helpless in the dark.
Kellyanne Fitzgerald is a writer and artist based in Madison, Wisconsin. In her free time she enjoys language learning, fiber arts, and folk art illustration.