Uncoil My Mind by Stina Trollbäck

Is it natural to be apprehensive of the


muscle flex



that vibrates in my pinky toe, where no one can take it away?

Because I don’t know what I should do with my nail that’s glittering like bioluminescent creatures, but I know that if I sit here, apprehensive, I’ll just become the shivering split screen on a window when it’s pouring rain outside, an insufficient umbrella with holes from hail, and I’ll just be the party snap that was thrown and didn’t explode because the amount of silver fulminate high explosive was 0.02 milligrams too little.


beat snap beat snap

If I told someone that I don’t want to be the adult that
counts on their fingers to add three to eight,
If I told someone that I don’t want to be the tea kettle
that wails at the steam coming out of my own ears,
If I told someone that I don’t want to be the rake that
combs the earth like nails scrape a chalkboard,
what would they say?

What would I answer?

And would I choke on my own stupidity
And would I puke on my sister’s eye roll
And would I gnaw on my irritated brain
that, if I dropped it, would have uncoiled like squiggling purple ramen.

And if I dropped it, would I pick up an end as if it were yarn that had rolled away from my lap

or the cat or would I yo-yo it until the squiggles snapped and I lost consciousness?