I wonder what chiropractor Atlas goes to...

Maria Andrea Nivon Galavez

He must go to one. After carrying the world on the tips of his shoulder blades, such a weight must have been bad for his back. Does the melting icecaps and homeless penguins cause the world to cry? Oceans spilling salted droplets stained with the ink of gasoline onto his back. What type of milk does he have to drink? To keep those sleepy bones from pulverizing? Does he take fish oil supplements? To ease the pressure off his thinning cartilage? Does the world reek? As landfills encroach upon the earth’s surface. Does the world leave creases? Like the imprints of wrinkled sheets on cheeks after oversleeping? Does he feel the world growing heavier? With every birth, the heft of every death. Is arthritis something he has to contend with? Amongst every other inconvenience of the world? Does he wrinkle his nose? At the scent of fireworks, cigarettes, and lavender candles? What supplements does he take? To keep at his sanity, day in, day out? Does he wish he could scream sense into the leaching parasites? Pluck and prune them one by one with the nails of his fingertips? What chiropractor does Atlas go to? Does he contemplate the world’s expiration date? Is he relieved it’s coming soon? 

Spring 2025