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?