The Ones Who Know Us ~ prose poem by Pat Foran

Sometimes, when we feel like aliens, which is most of the time (but whatever), we wonder: Do you know us?

If not, it’s okay. It’s okay.

Who knows us, really knows us? Gets us?

The woman with a YouTube music reaction channel, the woman with a slow-rolling teardrop in her voice hearing feeling believing in an old song in a new way.

The man who ordered a practical illusion suitable to perform under all conditions from a 1937 magic catalog, the illusion’s effect so marvelous you will, well, marvel at it.

The mother from another planet who tells us she feels empty, empty as a census-designated place in the scurry of the sky, a place that hangs in effigy, hangs and spins a little, a little then a lot, until we hear feel believe in the next YouTube reaction video. Until the next teardrop slow-rolls. Until the next illusion extends a trembling hand. Until the next marvel manifests. Until the next mother cries out softly, so softly. Until the next alien says Hey – it’s okay. Really. It’s okay. It’s okay.

“Pat Foran is something of an alien,” said an uninterested observer who requested anonymity. Foran’s work has appeared in various journals, including Pithead Chapel, Tahoma Literary Review, and Louisiana Literature. Find him at neutralspaces.co/patforan/ and on Twitter at @pdforan.