Tearfall. Snowflake. Cloud— I dwell on water.
Float with the knowledge of most of my body
being water. The therapist’s torso
is pressed so close to me I’m no longer past
the soft age of two, the pool’s warmth, womb-like—
I dwell on how to be in two places at once
like rivers, how to occupy past & future
& present in the present—Ganges of the hills
one with Ganges of the plains. The therapist’s fingers
pluck my spine for music, her arms make a fishing net
of my shoulders: I’m breathless with hope
of catch—
Last winter, my feet leaned against a ledge that wouldn’t
let me go, the scent of tuberoses wafting in
from my balcony, the blessing of an amber sunset
in the west—With every turn of wind
the sand dunes of Thar change shape, how I imagine a mind
untangles with morning. A million versions of river
flee my limbs when I pull the knoll of my body
out of the pool’s warm lull. Bouncing off the topiary Buddha
in the lawn, my attention pauses at the shape of sun
through leaves. I know the center of the universe
ought to be here, its fleeting ghost body forever
skirting the periphery of my vision—
Header photograph by Larena Nellies-Ortiz.
yes. i’m breathless with hope…
thanks for invoking hope…