Member-only story
Poetry
Nostromo
On isolation
Where are you from?
He asks; she asks; they ask.
As a curiosity or confirmation of a bias
That I don’t belong.
Who are you?,
I want to answer.
Who gave you the right to ask for my intimacy, my roots, my ancestry
in the first few seconds of you seeing me
that you will chew like a curiosity,
like some fast fashion that you’ll only use once,
like a big mac to fill a craving
for instant gratification without effort
a trivia fact predetermined to die
But I don’t think you want to know me
To jump into the depths of my being
Of my isolation
Where I do not receive light but whatever filters down
to the depths of my home in the Mariana Trench —
I live with no oxygen or light,
I adapt.
Your asking confirms my foreignness and alienness
My isolation hunts me through the Nostromo
Pablo Pereyra 2024. Thank you for reading.
