All the Same

Lying in our bed last night, I thought through my day with and without you.

Was it that the excise tax moves left up the demand curve or was it down to the right? Or was it to the left down the supply? The graphs, the charts, the fucking exhibits 4 point so and so: the blue line, the demand, and the red, the supply. Or was it the red: demand? Blue: supply?

I lay there cloaked in our blue paisley comforter as a priest during a requiem mass. Staring into the lightless space above my small face, my big, round eyes—the eggshell appeared to commence my baptism, yet the paint froze to the ceiling, only millimeters for its origin.

I turned to face my sleeping love. His sandy, blonde hair hid his unopened eyes; his freckles sheltered the fair skin of his shoulders. Not long after I lay with my eyes toward him had I become warm, so I removed the comforter.

I lay there in the dark bedroom with my body, or as he would say, my "humble breasts" and "womanly thighs," exposed to the room as the room laid exposed to us upon our first night in this apartment: the walls adorned with nothing, the photos of the family still in suitcases and boxes and not on the bedside stands, and the bed itself was only the mattress on the tan carpet.

I was not tired, yet I longed to be with him in our marital bed. His heartbeat and the vibration of him breathing gave to me more comfort than the air conditioning; the mattress and the pillow from my mother’s; the metal-blue, cotton sheets; the answers to tomorrow’s assignment; and the moon that laid a golden tint to the eggshell-cold walls.

Was it that? Yes, to the right. To the right with the demand curve. Yet the excise tax is a producer’s tax, so than it would be left with the demand. Or would it?

I felt his beating heart, all the same.


I had an hour to write a description of something (it did not matter to my professor), yet it had to be from a woman's point of view. I think of this as prose-poem; however, I going to post it on this blog.