July 7, 2018 § 2 Comments
I want to be so new my own hands are a foreign land.
So new that light is a stunning surprise.
So new that the temperature of the world shocks me till I bawl—and then the sound of my own voice shocks me again.
I want a body that is still growing up, not down, one that takes me places I have forgotten about as an adult, or have come to take for granted.
I want to sit under the table surrounded by grownups’ knees, unnoticed as those grownups speak adult and pay no attention to their own shoes–but I will, in my secret cave under the table.
I want the line between what is real, and what is not, to blur, so that the imagined is so possible it tingles my spine, even if it puts that scary thing that huffs in the night back under my bed.
I want to be the kid, the junior partner, the one who sits in the back seat and whines.