ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

I Spoke
by roxanne carter

i spoke of the noise. the noise of the night. a noise in a dark room, a scramble of keratin on wood. i spoke of the noise of vermin. i described the quality of warm mammals scurrying. i prepared myself. i went to choose little adornments, and i listened.

i said i would buy arsenic to destroy the disturbers of my sleep. i spoke of the vermin brushing against my face in the dark of the night. i said caution was needful. i bought enough grains to fill a walnut shell. i would leave very soon and not return again. i would leave and go farther. i left and returned to my room, carrying a handful of arsenic. i was cautious lest i should be seen. i kept my hand curled like a walnut shell. i made myself very small. i laid aside the deadly purchase and dressed. i spoke and my lips took pleasure in speaking. i spoke of vermin and i sealed an envelope. i said hair of the elk, and speckled pheasant, and ptarmigan, and i was taken by grief.

i was cautious and consistent. i placed an envelope under my pillow and i breathed. i spoke of the vermin but with less fervor and more heaviness than before. i took the arsenic and parted my lips. i said nothing. the arsenic was the size of a walnut on my tongue. i rinsed my throat, my teeth and my lips. i lay my body cautiously on the bed. i tied a white handkerchief beneath my chin and put my head above the pillow. there was stillness about the room, and a noise. the noise of my breath departing. i sighed, and sleep came over me.
i awoke to death. i lay in my bed with a letter under my pillow, and my head upon it. i lay without effort. a noise rose again, and an eruption spread itself over the entire surface of my form. i tore the handkerchief from my face and flung the heavy mineral from my mouth. i tore death from my body. i rinsed my neck, my lips, my teeth, my tongue and i spoke. i said i was not grateful.