This piece was first published in Quarto’s 2021 Spring Print Edition.
Illustration by Rawan Hayat
it felt like we were always working doubles
money always felt tight but we splurged
on Saturdays at the bead store
and hotboxed my car after almost every shift.
June went by fast
and the 21st passed without acknowledgment.
Something only has power over you if you let it
and I deemed my silence a reclamation.
I was doing my affirmations every morning
groundings every night
to say something out loud is to jinx it
so I jinxed my progress every day
as prescribed. I started hearing rats in the walls
in July, for the first time
in a while, scurrying through the scaffolding
squeaking so loud I couldn’t sleep.
Even though you didn’t hear them
you bought me Punisher on vinyl for the noise
and 3 grams to help me sleep.
I listened to Moon Song until the needle dulled.
You said it “hit too hard”
but you didn’t mean stop, you meant
It resonated with the part of us we can’t articulate
or won’t articulate, steadfast
in a silent reclamation
of our bodies, of our minds.
A rat died in the walls in August.
The rot was overpowering, putrid like his stomach breath
hot on my cheeks all over again, I tethered myself to my navel
and all over again, I shelled out $75 for the exterminator
who couldn’t bring herself to charge me full price
when there was nothing for her to kill.
Sometimes when I wake up I think I’m back there again—
The ghosts of his hands moving down my body
stealing myself from me
feel so real. But I remind myself:
they are my hands
they belong to me
this time around.
Skye Levine (she/her) is a second-year at Barnard, prospectively majoring in English and Sociology. She is from Austin, Texas, and is currently based in New York City. She loves hiking, live music, drawing, and drinking (too much) coffee. You can find her on Instagram (@skyelevine).