On the Möbius, by Carlos Hernandez

I won’t resist. I know I can’t.
I’m statue-still. I’m scentless.
Take a whiff. There’s nothing left
of mind, or fear, or promises.

I’m statue-still. Of scent bereft.
I’m sea-glass tumbled smooth by salt.
I don’t mind fear. It promises
to come and go and go and come and go.

I’m sea-glass, yes. Still new, still sharp.
I hate my edge. I need more time
to come and go and go and come and go
on the Möbius the dead and living ride.

I hate my edge. There was a time
I loved it—loved to kill and eat.
But on the Möbius the dead and living ride
I feast upon myself, in time,

and love it. Love to kill, to eat
the molecules over which I ruled.
I feast upon “myself”— for time
has taken all my sovereignty. 

The molecules over which I ruled?
They severed all their bonds with me.
And all my former sovereignty?
I wish that none of it remained.

Sever all your bonds with me
I scream to nothing voicelessly.
I wish that none of me remained.
Wherefore this helpless qualia?

I scream, and nothing voicelessly
replies, its voice a cavern’s hush,
“Wherefore this helpless qualia?”
An echo? No. The wish for one.

I am become a cavern’s hush.
I won’t resist. I know I can’t.
An echo of myself? I wish.
Take a whiff. There’s too much left.

Carlos Hernandez (he/him) is the author of the Pura Belpré-award winning Sal and Gabi Break the Universe (2019), as well as its sequel, Sal and Gabi Fix the Universe (2020) and the short story collection The Assimilated Cuban’s Guide to Quantum Santeria (2016), along with numerous short stories and poems. He is also a CUNY professor of English at BMCC and the Graduate Center, as well as a game writer and designer. Find him on socials @writeteachplay.

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