Mirene Arsanios


People Want Power

I want Luka to fall asleep. When he is awake, all he wants is my dirty socks. He doesn’t have language to say, “I want.” Babies always want something; they want words they don’t have so they can express what they need. Their tiny fingers extend to grab anything within and out of reach. When they manage to get the object they desire, they pause in awe of their own feat rather than of the object they were able to momentarily possess. I love babies because they don’t know property. Nothing belongs to them, and nothing does not not belong to them. Luka wants me to be with him, to stop scrolling the news on my phone. When he doesn’t have my undivided attention, he observes the object that possesses the attention he desires and wants that instead. I turn away slightly, nudging him toward building blocks and stackable rings. I scroll through footage of protests, people demanding the collective decapitation of the ruling class. There is no electricity to charge laptops or keep the meat frozen.