CLEAN WHITE CUBE

Savannah

Begins to herself, and then to the audience.

What is this clean white cube I've entered?   Which rabbit hole sucked me down?   Last I remember, I was sitting on the family couch denim, watching hours upon years of the static screen dance.   Me, trembling with fright as the minutes walked by while my mom sat next to sister, dad- all anchoring me closely with some kind of umbilical ghost.

You see, I tried to hide under media's blanket, but something inside was burning awful and the bu-bum bu-bum beat of my heart's feet did a triple time foxtrot, and my hands were shaking and my head was pounding and I couldn't keep my eyes on ha ha has.

Quivering, epileptic butterfly.   Not knowing the source of the shake, but that I shook to levitate.   Out of body watching in, watching people watch people live.

Now here, sudden.   Dragged for a jump start-   to gather warmth under any blanket phrase they'll give me.   I go fetal, is that treatable?   Is it best to take rest in a cuckoo's nest?   And who is this peering cuckoo clock doctor?   Checking off answers between ticks and tocks.   Prodding me in between blinks.   Unfortunate is what she thinks.

To the audience, challenging.

I see you questions questions.   And you find me here thinking I have spans of answers.   All I know is my skin doesn't fit.   I'm in a box yes.   Box no,   and naked- my only remedy refuge this Doctor Doctor sitting proud in her coat of arms.   She is supposed to be my Northern Star, but people under safety's shield are usually content where they are...