i pass the time, imagining

we permanently pull ourselves

inside the secret space between

goodnight and when the phone call ends.

the moment’s made of warmth and sta-

tic. god, it’s good. imagine that

we live in an apartment there:

we don’t pay rent. i think we have

a cat, and we refine the art

of taking up the space that we’ve

been given. we decide that we

deserve to stay inside when it

is raining. we decide that we

will never use alarm clocks. i

just want to be suspended there—

the pause that comes before we’re both

alone again. some pauses make

the perfect place to live, but some

are horrid, like the moment bet-

ween turning on a light, and when

the light itself appears. you see,

i think we ought to live somewhere

where warm/soft/gentle yellow light

will never be withheld. because,

why should it be? we’ve earned as much.

i’m losing touch; i can’t keep track.

which outfits have i worn this week?

each week is just a stretched-out day.

i make myself take seven naps;

i guess that means i’m doing fine.

i’m learning how to trust me, when

i say that i’ll take care of me,

and learning how to trust that i

am liked and loved and doing fine.

it’s fine. we’re doing fine, and so

we’ll keep on finding moments/paus-

es/hesitations fit for mak-

ing homes in, and the time will pass.



April Clark is a trans woman and student at the University of Washington, pursuing a B.A. in both English and Comparative History of Ideas. She started at UW as a freshman at the age of 15. She writes when she can, and has published in a handful of small journals.

Barzakh Mag