Tsunami of Consciousness

by Jacynth Apora

My boat is too big and too loud for this lake. The oil would be such an unnecessary contamination.

So I don't sail. I swim in a white linen dress satisfied with the fact that the sun won't dry me because the heat has withered away. Then I set up the table. There are empty plates and a basket filled with bread. There are empty chairs and there is the chair that I am occupying. There are unsullied napkins and glasses filled with red wine. There is silver light bouncing off of gold rims of the plates and gold light bouncing off of the silver forks and spoons. The light blue of the sky tries to infiltrate the royal blue salt shaker with a reflection but a form of payment is due before entering the serendipity and serenity of light blue. I make lip stains out of the red wine on all the napkins. It's a kiss, rich yet hazy. I break bread, feeding ghosts without feeding myself. When I see my reflection on my plate, I also see the trees, reminding me that trees strip themselves bare for protection. I use the pepper shaker like a maraca, sprinkling the pepper on your plates. When pepper makes the food taste good, I hope my optimism for you makes you believe in something. When pepper makes you sneeze you're reminded that I am such an inconvenience.

In the middle of the table there are flowers. I used to love flowers so much. In the back of my mind I do, but as much as they're a centerpiece, they're also just taking up room on the table. In the back of my mind, I am the center of the universe - an inflated ego / a desire to healthily indulge in self-care. Paradoxical, hypocritical, a centerpiece, an attention seeker. A loyal contradiction, a wavering peace of mind.

I wish I were a magician who could pull the tablecloth and everything would stay in place. l pull the table cloth and everything shatters but the table still stands on all four legs. The water weighs my dress down, making my shoulders feel heavy, like I'm drowning as I stand. My disaster's litter is on the ground along with the brittle leaves of the trees that are orange, red and somewhat tan like the color of my skin. The sky is not clear because the less clouds there are, and there are none right now, the more atmosphere my breath takes up. The lake is not clear because it is infested with my dead skin cells. My head is not clear, but at least oil isn't polluting the lake. There is no one here to give a knowing smile. The people who own the houses are on vacation. There are people who have left me and are much happier now. But I'm happier with the people who stayed and the people who I've just met.

I carve a promise on a thin branch.

I clean up as much as I can. I think about eating whole wheat bread with peanut butter, drinking warm tea, putting on fuzzy socks, and watching a comedy. I'm going to get sick for letting myself be drenched in the cold, but I'll recoup.

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