i break and crumble and slice; lettuce, tomato, red capsicum. and something like horror coils in my gut when i break apart the shiny skin to find a host of green infant sworls inside riding high over seeds and pith, like tiny baby ears, unripe as egg yolks. and i think: i'm not sure i can eat this now. and how ridiculous it is that i can eat animal flesh, but the sight of these burgeoning peppers in a red womb, red heart makes me ill.

and everywhere i don't look there are things flickering just at the edge of vision, but when i turn my head they're gone. and all over my skin, all over the surface of the world, things are crawling and creeping and i just want to shake them off like a dog sprays droplets in a wide arc. and i will make that wide arc around me smooth and still. and i will not scratch my skin or tug my hair, no, and i will forget the thudding of my frightening heart, and i will not have to instruct myself to breathe.

i am only afraid of space when there are other people to fill it.

i like to look at myself in the shiny mirror of the apple at the base of snow white. i like how i appear a piece at a time: thumb, eye, a swift blur of cheek. i know that girl. i wish i were as small as she.

finally i am old enough for this song.