[Verse 1 — spoken word, female rapper smoky raspy voice] The bell has stopped My phone has not Somebody has posted the mountain man’s photograph Missing Last seen near the funeral pyre I turn the television down As though that will help me think Then turn it up again Because the man explaining the disappearance has the missing man strapped to a table I go back Before the laboratory Before the restraints There he is Talking about his family Talking about his mountain Perhaps he thinks too highly of himself Half the people on my phone do Nobody has come to collect their legs The doctor breaks his I watch it twice I wish I had only watched it once Now the report says the patient has difficulty moving There is a sentence doing an extraordinary amount of cleaning I pull my knees beneath my T-shirt The housekeeper asks if I want the curtains closed Not yet She leaves the sandwich anyway I look at the bread Look at the screen Push the plate away He takes a piece from the man’s throat Then examines why his throat is struggling I write those things down in that order Leave a space between them Come back The space has not made it any better Nine days That is how long before one of the doctor’s symptoms appears Nine days inside that room With those instruments With him I cannot see what is in the bottles I cannot hear what happens when the broadcast cuts I am not filling that part in But I can see the straps I can see who tightens them His photograph is still open on my phone Somebody chose one where he was smiling On the television he is trying to answer another question I put the two faces beside each other The mountain man is missing The patient is right there [Pre hook-angry aggression] (Lexie, you need to stop fighting your powers. I told you you have the power of words. The power to move things with your voice. The time is coming, Lexie. Get prepared.) Cinder, where are you? Mom, I miss you. [Verse 2 — female rapper, smoky raspy voice, calm, emotional rap] Cinder, just before you left, you held my hands and held them tight Said the endgame would surround me, I’d be standing in the fight Said my pen could end the bloodshed, bring the living through the night Now I stare into your empty room and wonder if you’re right Wars and rumors of wars, the television spreads the dread All the warnings you once whispered crowd the corners of my head Hobbits warring with the turtles, men and women seeing red While the fever keeps on feeding on the fear that they’ve been fed You said my pen could end it all, could stop the town from breaking Now the page is on my knees, I press it flat to hide the shaking I can fill a page with sentences, still choke on what I’m saying How do I become their answer when I’m barely done with praying No doctor could undo the plague, no blade could reach its source You said my words could turn the ending, put the town on a different course I would trade the gift you gave me for another ordinary day Hear you asking if I’ve eaten, have a thousand things to say You believed before I did, I wish that you could see me here With a trembling hand above the page, your warning in my ear I don’t know how ink stops armies, how a voice can stop decay But you never spoke so gently just to lead your girl astray So I write until the fear gives way, until the words come through If I have to save this town, Mom, let me start by hearing you [Verse 3 — spoken word, female rapper smoky raspy voice] On the television The coat is white The envelope is black I keep changing which one I look at first A doctor takes an oath A king takes a country What takes the doctor And leaves him able to sign his own name He listens to a chest Then writes about a throat Something in that room has a pulse Something in that room gives orders I can only hear one of them Mom said he couldn’t cure it I keep reading more into that than she said A splint holds a leg still So does a strap I move closer to the television His patient reaches for the rafters He watches the man’s hands I watch his Who examines the surgeon before the first incision An instrument can examine a body An instrument can belong to somebody He sets the scalpel down Keeps talking I cover the black envelope on the screen with my thumb His face looks different without it Same face I move my thumb back There is a second chair beside his Close enough to share the notes Close enough to reach the restraints He leans toward the microphone I put my pen down His eyes settle on the camera For a moment I check the glass behind me Mom said my voice could end it He keeps examining their throats I reach for the volume Then leave it where it is
