HELLO CACTUS

The cactus is fine.

Unless it’s pretending, plants do that.

They look alive until they’re not,

and maybe the spikes were leaning yesterday

but I didn’t notice.

Now I keep thinking about leaning.

Over and over until the word feels wrong.

Like my head.

Like the wall , bending, or maybe it’s me.

I saw a hallway inside my chest.

The doors were breathing in and out.

One had my hands,

but the hands were too small

and full of sand.

I don’t know if that means something.

Or if it’s because I left the window open

last week. Or last month.

Time feels like it’s folding on itself.

The floor was humming earlier.

Or maybe it was the fridge.

Or maybe it was me.

I hear hums even when it’s quiet.

My skin feels like it’s wearing something

that isn’t there.

The cactus is still watching me.

If I blink too long,

maybe it’ll move.

And then I’ll know.