broke

by Johannah Simon

We are locked in an anxious cage of quiet. Tethered and tight. Even our words are constrained, tangled in the scant sliver of space between our bodies. You asked. I didn’t answer. I weigh the cost of each word in my mouth. Wonder what I can afford. The cost to stay, the cost to go. What I gain, what I give up. How much I can spend on sentences. A balance sheet of he said, she said; they never said; they never talk at all. Price tags dangling on the edge of my tongue. I love a bargain. I’m window shopping, browse-only. I don’t buy what I can’t return. Can’t undo. Can’t send back. Can’t exchange. Words force us to show our hands. Keeping the quiet peace is cheap. Silence is flimsy currency. Truth is weighty. A gold brick. A Krugerrand. Platinum shackles. Inside me, I carry four pieces of my father’s good advice, my small inheritance tucked into a whipstitched worn leather coin purse.  Challenge coins I flip between fingers for courage. I choose: He who speaks first loses. I don’t need to win but I don’t want to lose. I keep my damn mouth shut. I can’t afford the truth. Talk isn’t cheap, its expensive AF. And I’m broke.

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BIO: Johannah Simon (she/her) is a corporate strategist, adjunct professor, and (sometime) creative. A Midwest GenX multi-genre writer, her tiny pieces have appeared in HAWKEYE, BULL, The Hooghly Review, Underbelly Press, A Sufferer’s Digest, and Fahmidan Journal. Hit her up on X @JohannahWrites, @johannah.bsky.social, and at www.thewritingtype.com.