journal (take #40)

dear diary,  there  is nothing to  soothe  the  pain but  a photograph,  a 
painted page,  a poem — when  something  has cut clean through my 
sternum  with a dull box knife,  i only know how to bedazzle the edges 
of the wound.  call  it  obsession or ritual,  if  you will,  but creation is all 
that  quells the hurt,  rising to break  the levee  of  a smoking stare like 
storm  surge.  i  describe  my  trauma  like a  personal  hog,  covered in 
drugstore lipstick. dear diary, each  time  the  hands of god plumb the
 depths of my chest cavity and pluck everything out  of place inside of 
me, i literally cannot fathom a world in which i do not  make art about 
the moment of impact, the whole event, and the aftermath. this is my 
practice,  the  closest  i  know  to  liturgy — first,  wait  for  the  thing  to 
happen,  because  at  this  point,  i’ve  come  to expect it.  then,  let  the 
moment expire, and record all that is left.

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nat raum is a queer disabled artist, writer, and editor based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. Past publishers of their writing include Split Lip Magazine, Poetry.onl, Baltimore Beat, Poet Lore, beestung, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.