The quick snap of pain against soft skin keeps something deep underneath those cells and those nerves wired to the Earth. To the cycles of days and nights. To the wheel of threads and interwoven life.
Without reminders, I get heady and loose myself from gravity and drift off into inner space. There no rivers flow and no sound escapes but the vacuum presses cold and harsh against those inner eyelids. And before I know it, I’m fast alseep and throwing punches truncated at the air.
I was born so domesticated, I hardly survive in the wild.
Ah, but if I break these bones apart, I might remember how to feel. If I tear this skin and burn this hair, maybe I stand a chance of recalling what I once knew was real. If I come unglued, maybe I stand a chance of grounding myself again.
If I let go, maybe I stand a chance of remembering I already knew how to fly.
I am holding on by threads and ropes that someone else twisted secure around me.
I am clinging to the past and the wisdom of the wind.
Eventually, I’ll be falling.
Until then, I hope the sun’s glow and the moon’s thrown shadows and the gravity fom these shivering stones uphold me until my eyes close.