BLUE BRUCE BURROWS
She takes the needles out of her arm one by one. She sees no process, only events. You walk slowly, cover the edges of the room. The needles fall to the floor like straw. Tiny points of blood, constellations outside the vein and she says, “Inside me this is blue. Outside, light controls this, but inside me this is blue.” The humidity sticks to the walls and part of your mind strays long enough to wonder if maybe she is a mermaid. “I thought it was oxygen.” “No. Light. I am sure.” “How do you know? Like electricity?” “No. That is Science. I’m talking about Faith. You’ve heard about that, Faith?” “Sure.” You stop walking and she drifts cross-legged to the floor, beautiful little anorexic Buddha with river running to her wrist. “But still, I’m thinking oxygen.” “I don’t think so.” She smiles. The needles drop to the floor like straw and for a moment you think hay in a needlestack but know better than to say so in such company. “No,” she says. “I don’t think so.”
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