At my dear friend's kitchen table,
I am making an origami box
with beautiful floral paper.

Pressing down my thumb
to get that sweet crease—
part of this process is how I
am intending to practice mindfulness,
mostly to get my mind off
the heavy pit in my chest.

I keep looking out the sunny window
at evergreen trees and open blue skies,
trying to find a way
to take my focus off the origami box.

But I keep coming back
to the satisfaction
of the perfectly aligned crease,
and return, and return,

Until I have just made
three beautiful origami boxes—
each fold a breath,
each crease a moment of peace.

The musky candle,
solely lighting
the black room,
casts a shadow of the bedside fern—
a delicate silhouette
swaying on the wall.

Follow me now-
As we exhale,
deepening til there's no air,

As we inhale,
let our eyes focus
on the buzzing space that lives
in between objects and bodies.

Bring your attention
to the pleasure of stillness,
the lingering taste of wine
on your tongue.

Feel the pull
of our quiet obsessions,
the gravity of our thoughts.

it takes me all day
to finish a bowl of soup-
it is cold and sits on my desk,
i chip away at it until it's gone

i feel like i'm holding
a pile of Lego bricks,
sorting them by color
instead of connecting their parts

my eyes wander to
only what interests me,
and i tend to move by
either branching or spiraling

my feet are running on hot pavement
and i'm exhausted,
by the time i look around,
i'm in the same place

With long ash blonde hair
freckles dotting my face and shoulders
rosy lips and cheeks from the sun
I am a young girl again
Laying on the Atlantic ocean shore
my back pressing into the soft sand
Letting the waves roll over me
laughing hysterically
as the salt water tickles my tummy
and I plug my nose

It was at this age I smiled cheek to cheek
without worrying about the layout of my teeth
I didn’t consider myself lonely
I had quite a lot of fun with my imagination
Not yet the age where I was preoccupied
with image or my emotions
Just living like the waves crashing over me

I fit into a shell
whose size
lays in the palm
of your hand

I curl my body so it’s
matching the hollowed spiral
and is pressing gently against
the cool, smooth barriers

The noises are muffled
and the air inside here
is how I imagine it feels
to fly through the clouds.

On my journey to my grandmother’s, the landscape holds my attention with subtleties.
Muted hues of soft lavender, pale brown, and ashy green painted outside the dashboard. Everything peeking out from a gentle coat of dust.
Yellow weeds and thistles dot the golden hills.

This corner of the country feels like a cherished family heirloom. The color palette resonates with my only sense of familiarity. Maybe it is my fixation on the colors themselves that buffer any sense of grief I carry towards instability.  None of us in my family have claimed permanency in structure. Yet, my grandmother’s home is a sanctuary.

I keep a tight grip around
everything that hurts.
I keep asking my therapist
"how do we let go?"
and what does that really mean?
she says, so gently:
“if the pain was deep enough, you will have to let go many times”
I never realized I had that power
to do that
to inhale and exhale

I've always suspected I'm an alien.
Lately I figured out,
that I'm an earthling
lost in space.