Helium

by Rudy Francisco

Some days I forget that my skin is not a panic room.

this sadness is the only clean shirt I have left and my washing machine has been broken for months,

I’d rather not ruin someone’s day with my tragic honesty so instead I treat my face like a pumpkin. I pretend that it’s Halloween. I carve it into something acceptable. I laugh and I say, “I’m doing alright.”

My brain is a revolver with “Am I good enough?” in every chamber. So I turn into a factory that only makes the word “yes” and I say it until it can easily be mistaken for the truth,

I wonder if my grandkids will ever throw a penny in a fountain and hear it splash.