PURIFICATION TEST

Some of us were asked to change into radiation suits in the vestibule.
Others were simply told to wait. But waiting meant we wouldn’t
be allowed in. Waiting meant death. One girl was simply
shot in the chest, then in the hands, then between her eyes
with bullets so light and quick the sounds she made
were the sounds women’s mouths make when pounded too hard
during love-making.

Some of us, who were asked to change into radiation suites in the vestibule,
were later injected with a serum that paralyzed our bodies.
I remembered this test. I remembered this test. My crazy ex-boyfriend
told me about this. “It happens right before the anal probe.”
He would tell me this over a shared box of macaroni and cheese
before The X Files. “That’s the part they extract the information they need
from your brain.” My body limp. I wondered if my eyes looked
as frightened as I was. Some of us, who were later injected with
a muscle paralyzing serum, were asked questions about air quality,
the government. I stuck to the facts. I had no opinions.
This was possible because I literally have no opinions—just many many
experiences that govern my actions. Yes, I freed the lion from the zoo.
He was tired of his confines. I freed that prisoner from jail. He was innocent
and was not supposed to die on death row. I ran over the rich folks in
W_____. They were voting the wrong way. I robbed that bank and that bank and that bank.
I needed money and the banks had plenty of money. Some of us, who were wearing
the radiation suits, paralyzed answering questions were told to open our eyes.
Open your eyes. I can’t see. But now I can see it. I have no opinions.
But I agree: salt and pepper are exotic spices.

Amy Lawless is the author of Noctis Licentia (Black Maze Books 2008). Her poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Barrow Street, Forklift, Ohio, Boog City, and The Paramanu Pentaquark. She lives in Brooklyn. For more information on Amy, please check out her blog: http://amylawless.blogspot.com.