Regimen of Bouncing BackCynthia Arrieu-King
It was when I ran and ran towards that small white disk as if to catch it It was when my friends slowly and without my knowing had changed from lion-ugly strangers — the kind whom you're real sorry are at your party — to the people I had known my whole life and who had known the whole sorry toothpaste fiasco. I trapped up emotional dirty shirts and stared at the one true thing I could do which became several, which became impossible to ignore and not do: couldn't I take down the laundry? And faster than that? Impossible to dirty more. I asked all the people I had been in running love with did they love me, and one by one they said I got a girlfriend, uh which caused me to feel pitiful and brutalized on the hotel rug for 12 seconds until I noticed another who said, I love you but not so much in words as in the way small leaves, greenish, complicated by reproductive tubing can only wave in the air and wave through fear which caused me to feel argument and lack of illumination — that one moment you must allow yourself to touch down into the purple disappointment the touch surprisingly restorative.
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