gummy

I know the endings too well; I plunge in and head straight for closure, removal, the safety of anticipatory distance. All the rough force of our determined defenses, peach pit poison shells, & the forts we've got ready-made.

These some small things sautered together, these syrupy rituals we repeat, and again, as if stretching for refrains of salvation. There are secrets revealed by our bodies while we sleep, stranger than dreams, tenser than our waking moments. (Pry yr shoulders loose from the stiff pose they've held all night.)

My father tells me how he wakes with grit in his mouth after grinding his teeth all night. My sister's jaw locks and aches, like mine does. I spit blood and toothpaste into my grimy white sink each morning, and chew on my raw lips all day.

So many small muscles tensed in each balancing act, have you noticed? Taut and defensive against the dangers that lie along the borders between our soft bodies and the hard edges of the world.