The Milton Review

It Is Not That I am so Old—
It is More That I Exist Outside My Own Understanding

B.A. O'Connell

I saw the stone tumble away from the tomb—which is not to say I saw it in person—but I have imagined it many times over in a cold rush of desperation—could I be living again? Could I have ever been alive? Which is not to say I am dead. I’m not. At least, I’m pretty sure I’m not. Loneliness eats away at bandages around acid vat hearts—I am eating myself away too—Jesus never imagined me; pretty funny to think about, you know? Omniscient God Man never thought about me—kinda tragic too—but you take what you can with what you get. I knit these big sad art things on looms in my bedroom—I pick my skin off when I get bored—I cry sometimes just for a change of pace; the sun sometimes sits for thirty minutes or so and kisses my achy body and warms my raw hands; Silence in the summer—buzzing of heaters in winter; there is nothing to do but be abominable when you don’t know what you are.

B.A. O'Connell was born and raised in Lockney, Texas, alongside a family they can't tell you about, or they'd have to kill you. Their chapbook, Sewn, Together, Anew and their novella, As I Want to Remember It are available on Amazon. Find out more about their creative projects @ baoconnell.com—also follow along on their twitter @OnceIateataco and their tumblr—hellishrebukesystem.tumblr.com

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