Executive Dysfunction – By Danny Vagnoni

This is a piece I did for a Zine, a self-published effort by myself and a group of friends. The Zine, entitled What About Us? focused on the experiences of minority populations. It's prime purpose was to represent people of color, but we had pieces from deaf authors, authors with mental illness, and so on.

The piece I contributed focuses on a speaker with depression and related executive dysfunction.

 Art by Celeste Isabel Franco, from  What About Us?

Art by Celeste Isabel Franco, from What About Us?

Executive Dysfunction – By Danny Vagnoni

Weekend

Sunrise is the sluggish gunpowder trail that burns across your floor. Its creep starts at 7:20 AM. Today, a tender darkness shields your eyes with Their fingers.

 

Sleep.

 

The phonemic /z/ /k/ of your blinds being drawn.

Weak

At 8:00 AM the light touches your head,

winds parasitically around your eyes,

Which flutter listlessly,

phlegmatic butterflies.

 

Each time you try to rise

it eats at your bones.

 

Your femur (r) slips out and clatters to the floor. The marrow bleeds like red wine over your carpet, three days of worn, tossed outfits.

 

You let the parasite in.

The phonemic /z/ /k/ of your blinds–thrown open!

 

In the kitchen

you pour coffee–liquid neurotypicality.

Painful jitters, you decide,

are preferable to looking like you are.

 

Your coworker likes Buzzfeed and Starbucks.

Her boyfriend filled in the remaining space with himself.

Emotional manspreading. You think.

 

Your boss likes Darth Vader and Dunkin’ Donuts.

The manager, lacrosse and WaWa.

 

They collect cups,

place them like toy soldiers

in front of the window.

 

You swim in fluorescent bleariness,

the gunpowder strip of sunlight sears the eggshell ceiling.

At 8:00 PM the pillow touches your head,

winds gently around your shoulders.

 

Your femur (l) slips out and clatters to the floor.

You let it. You become soft. You become tenderness.

Tomorrow, hard industrial light will pass through your new body, impotent.

Saturday

Sunrise is the sluggish gunpowder trail that burns across Their floor. Its creep starts at 7:27 AM. Today, a tender form shields Their eyes with its fingers.

Grow.

The phonemic /z/ /k/ of Their blinds being drawn.