morning

When I wake up it is dark and the morning that is not yet briefs me on my stupidity. My family is not awake in the apartment where they do not sleep and I do not welcome them today. I dress myself in the closet because it has a mirror, it has angles I need. Sitting on the floor makes me look thinner, because crossed legs collapse. I sit because my flash cards are on the floor and it is easier than stooping, that’s where my shoes are what’s the difference I would go to the kitchen if I could. I used to sleep like this, folded. I used to imagine I was in a space capsule, collapsed like shrink wrap, an envelope like time with wrinkles.
When I was I boy I awoke even earlier because I wanted my showers to be invisible. I wanted my sun to be me. Guards watch me closely at night, but even the most ambitious one sleeps at twilight. Even boys who can count their long pubes and their short ones know this.