Because they like me still, they shut me up in clothes — the blue cotton jumper, however, has discovered freedom on this tiny girl’s fluid body, although the memory of the closet keeps its new-found joy somewhat in check.
Although I’ve just taken my first step, I’m already doing it wrong, not straight-and-narrow enough, so he fumbles at my soul, the revenant divinity, corrects my pigeon-toes with iron braces so I might walk the straight-and-narrow upright, stunning the nascent, twisted soul of my legs by degrees.
There are unmade things in the earth. Unraveled things. Undone. Buried, buried, ruins of kings and barefooted beggars alike, gold uncreated, divided into its component parts, only the potential of it left behind, a kiss of memory in the rubble. 199 more words