When we drove into Atlanta, I kept
checking for zombies. Around the
park, in aquarium exhibits. I thought
they’d be drinking soda downtown.
No such luck. I even looked in the
windows, waiting for a zombie
self-portrait. You know it’s a
metaphor. Everything is, from
the stupid Vampire books, to
what they include in previews.
See, sometimes I shy from the
morning sun. Too much happens
in darkness. I used to be afraid
of Alaska- living, as they do, months
without seeing the sun. And fish…
they eat a lot of fish, I’m told.
I used to think I was too simple.
There were no great tragedies, and
nothing to make me complex and
compelling as a leading actress.
I wish I could be a little more boring.
I’ve become a modern-day zombie…
my shot heart, stumbling, a walking art.
Covering the mess with sticky lipgloss.
Tomorrow I will say to myself
“So this is survival.” Walking
through downtown Atlanta,
seeing car after car in traffic.