On the Body's Decision to Become a Freight Elevator

I didn't fill out any paperwork. There was no memo, no consent form. Just a nameless morning when the mirror refused to acknowledge anything above my collarbone. After that, people entered me carrying grief in cardboard boxes. Pressed buttons for floors that didn't exist. A man from 4D requested the roof, as if it were still an option. On Thursday, a child in a yellow parka whispered a song I recognized from my sleep paralysis years. It all arrived sticky and wrong though I tried to hum along, my cables winced. By Sunday I was hosting more than traffic. Something moved inside the machinery, something older than ballast or balance, and it wouldn't stop licking the grease from its own teeth. It told me to smile more. I jammed the doors. hummingbird— someone's mouth in my throat