reading while thinking about zombification

eyes crawling on figurative hands

and knees across the page.

one word at a time, until I reach

the end… seems an impossibly possible endeavor.

my fingers pry open Hadriana, bending

her spine, holding her ink in place,

forcing my face towards her pages.

one sentence at a time, until—

these days I feel like a zombie. I

can make out the shapes of letters if I squint

until they fade back into focus. but there’s nothing

in my head for the words to cling to.

when I say “zombie”, I’m not talking

about the damaged corpses running through

Pride & Prejudice adaptations in search of

brains to devour. Hadriana is darker, scarier.

you see in 1938 in Jacmel, Haiti, when a body goes

missing is stolen from its earthy bed, everyone says, “of course” and points

to the nearest witch doctor. they must have planned this, plotted

injecting a radiant youth with the same stuff Friar Lawrence gave Juliet.

they must have raised Hadriana from her death-like slumber not

to kill her, but to steal her soul… to keep her as a pet, a mindless

puppet, a beautiful fool, a body subject to whoever. I told you

it was worse than Pride & Prejudice & Zombies. how’s that for an impossible feat—

where was I… I

lost my way somewhere in these pages… again

and I’m left with one question I can’t get rid of:

did 2020 zombify me? did I let it?