What
am I? What
am I? What
am I? Shadowed seadepths
cut through with clear blue light?
A creature in hiding, slick tentacles
writhing and seething in secret
beneath a seal of human skin?
Or an enormous question
mark of hot pink smoke floating
in the air like a specter, waiting
for the curious to reach in?

No. No. No. I am only a woman
expected to lead each of you in turn
through the meandering halls
of these unnecessary questions every
second of every
minute of every
hour of every
day as if I didn’t
know the obvious
answer already.

- Rachel K. Zall