With the words, they just run backwards—away from where I asked them to go—faster and faster until all that’s left is a cloud of dust and my wonder of how it was they arrived in the first place.
With the words, they just jump high—up up into the sky and when I don’t feel so low, I can bounce and graze them with the tips of my fingers. I lick my lips in anticipation because that feeling—that one of bones and cells and muscles and blood filling with breath—lightness, softness, comes—and after the wave of nausea, I fall to my knees in celebration.Read More
If I could stop the clock, I think to myself—
(Just as I always do in the moments I feel I am lagging behind the crowd—which is always, these days)
I could catch up to my ever-demanding expectations.Read More