Oof.

The sound you hear when the screen door

appears as a brick wall.

One your body’s shapeshifting can’t bypass.

You can still hear the sound of

light doors opening and closing

as you stare at a remembered door frame.

Your body has amassed layers

that make it more effortful to glide.

Have been formed from cells

that have the agility to multiply,

like the days a kind of currency

that can’t be counted as payment.

Though if it could

what would I buy back?

The thinner frame of my person,

or the door that I needed to stay small to pass through.

When you stop to see what you’ve run into,

you wonder how you could ever glide.

Was it momentum that kept you,

or other people’s feelings,

the grooming of experience

not yet a form of accessed expertise?

Was there ever a door,

or a screen,

or a thinning,

or just a body unaware of what brick

feels like on bare skin

below layers of adrenaline.

I wonder,

and I can’t tell

if this feeling points to a new insight,

or a very, very old one.

The kind that takes on the sounds

of how fast you’re moving.

Stalking whatever quality allows a shapeshifter to pass over their environment,

and end up standing smaller.

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.