208: Untitled

I had an idea—three lines, turned and polished with wax and oil and whatever else wood and rock and glass need to astound the observer—and it slipped. My pillow ate it. The darkness digested it. It must have ended up in the sewers somewhere, washed out into the firth along with all the other eaten and digested things. All I'm left with is the vivid image of a scruffy man rubbing the back of a manta ray with a toothbrush, and I don't know if that was the idea or if that's what the pillow spat back out. The man and his manta ray follow me while I make breakfast, sit down to read, and make my to-do-list. He doesn't look at me—studiously ignores me while he scrubs away—and I have a feeling of looking into an aquarium through thick distorted glass, half fun house, half shopping mall, and I close my eyes. When I open them, he has disappeared into the firth with everything else.

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: All poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been viewed and commented on by our editors. Ultimately, however, we believe that it is the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions made by the editors, and therefore take no responsibility for the final product.