We love the smell of sunscreen. We have sensual memories of early morning train rides and coffee for a Euro, down along the river. We’ve been drunk and down. We’ve shot fake bullets at the dark. We base the worth of ourselves on how scrappy we are during crisis. Crises that don’t have to be impossible to fix.
Over the past few years we have begun to see the wrinkles and the stretch marks and the space below our jawlines is no longer taught the way it was. We still like pop music but the listening experience is more desperate and on the cliff of some hyper-emotional canyon of craggy rocks and dirt. The canyon is red. We love the canyon. We love its look, its scent.
When rain falls and we’re almost stuck we go in search of higher ground. We lick steaming slabs of rock, smiling, our love handles dripping wet. We’ve taken half dreams and turned them into full dreams. We use tools with a mastery that demonstrates we’re grown. We bang shoes on hinges when they’re stuck. We know where to find a neat little stash of band aids. We have insurance. We know our emergency contact’s phone by heart.
Every one of us has a story of a time we almost drowned. Anoxic situations everywhere you look.
We chase tequila shots with blackberries and scream (cry.) Biding our time until a different kind of storm. We’ve become our own kind of riverboat.
We covet what we won’t do not what we can’t do, and that’s our particular method of survival so don’t workshop it. Let us find out the hard way let us live.
We can still touch our toes. We work almost 40 hours a week. We scale walls break ankles bash our heads against the kitchen counter when it’s down to that or giving up. The world is intolerable sometimes. The world has picked a timeless, stupid fight. However dance is never not the answer so we’re doing fine.
We are bodies breathless but only just before the inhale.