I went into the red desert once
high in New Mexico
slithered on my belly
flamboyantly
naked where my family couldn’t find me
or remind me to be embarrassed
I stared all night at the horizon
wishing I could find an alien spaceship
to transport me to a happier place
one without muscular dystrophy
anxiety and OCD
There was a red light moving toward me
but it was only the park ranger
making his rounds
just checking in case any fragments from the war
had detonated beneath my feet
or I had been bitten by a scorpion
My illusions
allusions
delusions
broke free
and I slithered into my tent

Marina Outwater is a writer, photographer and middle school educator. She lives in Connecticut with her family and far too many pets.

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