Body

I can feel you.

I can feel the ground beneath you.

I can feel the moisture of your breath surround and encase you.

But connected? No, not exactly.

Attached, perhaps.

I've learned to care for you.

I've learned to turn the stabbing needles that swim in the hot steam of your belly into a glycerine that I can abide with.

I've learned how to keep your guts from heaving and your hair from falling out.

But when I close my eyes.

I leave you behind effortlessly.

You give me no choice.

You force this absence that makes no sense to me.

You evict me in fervid waves every chance you get.

And I see you there, your chest rising without me.

Your gears and levers and nuts and bolts all in place beneath me.

Yet you swallow me again the moment I wake.

And leave me wondering why you needed me in the first place.

But at least I know that one day, I will exist without you.

I will not be anchored to your grime.

I thank you for allowing me the comfort of knowing.

And when asked if Iʼd rather have scales or have feathers.

I would choose feathers, no doubt.

Then perhaps I could fly with my eyes wide open and take you with me.

If only for a second.

And grant you the favor you've given me.