I remember,
The sound of a faint heartbeat
A pulsing, living, riveting thing
The smoothing of hands folding into my frail little chest
when I was barely a day and a breath
I remember the brief satin cord which connected us, for a moment in time
Dreamlike days, where the sun is everpresent and glistening
Words a hearty amalgamation of pitches and gargles
Communication forming through touch and motion;
a bubble of laughter erupting
It’s good
a huff of strained air
not good
When the woman with curls like the sun presses her warm cheek against mine,
it\'s good
She tucks me into bed most nights,
I remember swallowing the pattern
Wrapped in home-stitched covers and duvets and linen sheets,
playing in worlds built beneath cloth, I remember the squeals of excitement
Writhing like the little bugs and beetles hidden in the dome of my cupping hands, baby fat and all
Dirtying the undersides of my nails, dirtying the underbelly of worn covers
I remember what it is to tumble and dig, to rummage and plant myself into the world beneath uncalloused fingers
what it\'s like to uproot contentment from tall blades of grass, to take it all for myself
I remember what it’s like to trip over myself
Panicked and anxious, skin scattered along bathroom tiles,
when my feet were too weak to support the weight of my ambition
I remember what it is to wipe the weeping scrapes on my knees, trembling hands pressing an old rag on the bloodied bits
My own trembling hands, begging silently for a voice of guidance
Clutching rags and cloths and miscellaneous items of clothing
everytime I fell upon those bathroom tiles into my own arms
I remember wishing, hoping and
even resorting to prayer
The woman whose curls dripped off her shoulders like liquid sun,
I remember her soft murmurs,
and the strong set of arms that could carry the frame of a child in her arms
and how they would soothe the fraying ends of my hair
and kiss the bloodied blemish beneath juvenile wraps
Her laughter was that of windchimes
Stained glass shards crackling, chirping and singing against one another
Sanded at the edges,
careful not to harm
Night approached
She bleached her hair,
and the scent of chemical toxicity lingered within her embrace
The hold became
(something I couldn’t put a name to)
Then her
curls wept from the chemicals
And her tea towels became stained from the same thing
Blotchy, seared like putting out cigarettes on skin
I remember that clearly,
more than I do her face
(There was a chemical in her hair
in her nails
in her jewelry
In her breath
in her money
in the food
in the food
in the food and the
unwashed kitchen towels keeping her tortillas warm
the towels with burn marks and cigarette stains
and maybe
even the tips of her fingers
became yellow from the chemical)
I washed clothes and fabrics,
Table covers and dishes
to appease, or maybe just to stand beside the window
with my hands dunked in cold water
waiting for a gust of wind to jumpstart the heart
of my stained glass windchimes
Sometimes I washed my hair in the sink
or even in the bathtub
Sitting on my knees, water lapping at my waist
I tried to remember what it was like
Connected by a thin tube of scraps
to my mother when she was round
How could I deny blood
or a barrage of legal scribbles
or
The welts in my skin
circular and mocking
I remember cutting it for the first time
I remember hearing it somewhere:
hair carries memories
The nape of my neck was exposed
For the first time since my chest was
wrapped and
wired to monitors
I could feel a breeze
The kiss of the Earth and her breath
And then nothing made sense
I remember asking
how could the world continue moving
In the presence of my red-hot anger
Raging, rampaging loose as if I were a dog
set to be euthanized
ready to be forgotten for something bigger
how could I be expected to function
Like some cog in a machine
I thought of the bugs I used to capture in the dome of my hand
writhing and
little
I remember the time passing
Eventually,
but still passing
and the edges of my anger chipped
Dulled, because
what was there left for me to do.
I dragged my teeth across rocks
Gnawing until it eased
and until I could no longer pierce through skin
(her blood beats through my skin and
my body
and
there is nothing to purify me from it
but
this body is born of musk and
sweat
like the boy you never birthed
and never wanted
And I am here anyways)
I remember waiting for windchimes and
fabric scraps
and learning to live without
Striking matches and breathing out
Something akin to chemicals and toxicity