You’ve been down, maybe it’s just that you have to be close to the ground for the world to speak;

so the things you hear don’t punch you any lower

because there’s bound to be mud and blood and worm-halves

down there.

 

Ever since I started ‘growing up’ there have been people

teaching me to rebel against this body

and sometimes I do.

But that’s only when I forget to ask why.  

Why, they worry about the architecture of my soul

when they built the stairs in my world.

 

Ever since I set about ‘growing up’ there have been people

teaching me to rebel against this body

and then you write to tell me

I have wings.

 

And some days,

we ditch the chair behind a tree,

let the metal beast sulk unseen.

You on guard, I lower myself to all fours

 

my arms—

cave

and though I sense you move

there is no flurry of panicked, motherly limbs

you wait to be asked.

 

I fall to commando in the grass,

arm, arm, drag legs

deliciously wet,

arm, arm, drag,

muddy shoes!

a perfect novelty,

arm, arm, drag legs, scuff shoes, scuff,

and I ask

Can we just stay here? Like forever?

Yeah. Why not? 

 

[ssba]