It is seven in the morning. The sun barely grazes her fingers across the horizon’s bare back, and she kisses his shoulder as if she is afraid to wake him. Soon, though, he will open his eyes and rumble the lakes and rivers to life; he will start tsunamis; he will open reservoirs. The sun…
I steal the silence. The air is crisp tonight, and my chest hums with a certain happiness, a broken quiet. My lungs are feathers molting noiselessly between breaths; in, out. Slowly, I bury my toes into the soil and I feel them thrum below the earth. The roots of the trees spread signals across my feet; primitive…
There is a certain type of beauty to the morning, a certain sense of gratefulness as the world peels open its encrusted eyes. The continents untuck themselves from oceanic blankets and mumble, Thank God we’re alive. Thank God we’re breathing. Africa bangs on the head of a drum– Antarctica shivers and Australia stretches its arms…
The circuits are twitching again. I can feel the currents jump through my veins and under my arteries, shove past my capillaries. It anchors around my knee caps, my thin shoulders, my breaking spine. “You know, it’s not a wish bone for a reason.” No, but it is mine. The currents squirm between tissue, zap…
2B or Not 2B 