It’s the Ninth Panic Attack this Week and We’ve Tried Everything to Stop It from Coming and it’s Sunday 

by Kate Beck

Golden Shovel after Ross Gay’s Inciting Joy: Essays

**Landscape orientation suggested for phone reading**

It’s like you puke up thousands 
on thousands of 
double-stuffed oreos, the ones that cracked open like birds 
from your fingers, taking 
splintered icing between their wings in flight. 
And you held them all in, 
breaking at your brain, squeezing at my 
hand, pumping at your chest. 
Warning signs of what the 
shaking mess would look like, long 
strings of worry beading through your hair and 
into my fingernails, the beautiful 
aching and then the breaking 
of everything we thought was over into 
another something 
that we don’t understand, no more 
trying, excusing, waiting, we’re hungrier than 
we were last week, hope and future falling from me.

Kate Beck spends most of each day sending emails and sleeping and talking to strangers and lovers and finding food and making food and eating food and walking around and driving and taking the bus and sometimes biking from place to place. In between these activities, Kate spends time noticing things and sometimes recording them.

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