When i was young, my skin was smooth and soft and un-ravaged.
Then, I grew up, and my top and bottom cheeks sagged, and my laughter
became a tangible memory around the corners of my eyes.
Now, when I smile, there are dimples and there are lines,
like the life-line and the love-line which are supposed to spell out my story
on the palm of my hand.
When I opened my eyes as a child, I saw brown water and blue skies and popsicles.
I saw floats on a lake and boats and friends splashing in from a water-trampoline,
yellow life jackets bobbing and children shouting.
Now, I still see blue skies, but sometimes there are white clouds and sometimes grey.
I see my mother with her own memories of laughter around her eyes and I see the crevices
at the edges of my father’s mouth from smiling and frowning.
I smell flowers now, and little boys inform me they're fuschia, and when I breathe
at night my pillow smells like London and my room like lavender so I am home and
abroad at once.
Once, when I was sad, I would think mommy and daddy mommy and daddy.
Now, when I am afraid, I think mommy mommy daddy I miss you.
I sleep in a twin bed and I tickle myself and it is like I am in kindergarten but now
my fantasies are slicker and harsher but they still paint pictures of a school girl.
I lay in shivasna when I was young yet not old, and I saw a peach pit uncovered,
and it transcended back in time to a baby, just born in the world, and I realized
how it is we can die before our bodies do, how our minds can leave even though
we physically stay.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC
When i was young, my skin was smooth and soft and un-ravaged.
Then, I grew up, and my top and bottom cheeks sagged, and my laughter
became a tangible memory around the corners of my eyes.
Now, when I smile, there are dimples and there are lines,
like the life-line and the love-line which are supposed to spell out my story
on the palm of my hand.
When I opened my eyes as a child, I saw brown water and blue skies and popsicles.
I saw floats on a lake and boats and friends splashing in from a water-trampoline,
yellow life jackets bobbing and children shouting.
Now, I still see blue skies, but sometimes there are white clouds and sometimes grey.
I see my mother with her own memories of laughter around her eyes and I see the crevices
at the edges of my father’s mouth from smiling and frowning.
I smell flowers now, and little boys inform me they're fuschia, and when I breathe
at night my pillow smells like London and my room like lavender so I am home and
abroad at once.
Once, when I was sad, I would think mommy and daddy mommy and daddy.
Now, when I am afraid, I think mommy mommy daddy I miss you.
I sleep in a twin bed and I tickle myself and it is like I am in kindergarten but now
my fantasies are slicker and harsher but they still paint pictures of a school girl.
I lay in shivasna when I was young yet not old, and I saw a peach pit uncovered,
and it transcended back in time to a baby, just born in the world, and I realized
how it is we can die before our bodies do, how our minds can leave even though
we physically stay.
