skin against scratchy towel.
raw, salty, sandy.
i imagine every particle in
my body turning off
one by one; their light
slowing down to stillness.
i direct the sun
from my toes to the baby hairs on
my head. ||: the breaths i take
are deep and long, i count
from one to ten :||
the good news is
the sun shines harder here.
home is in our hands
clasping together as i carry
the groceries that
didn't fit in the trolley, you
pulling it along behind us.
i ache to practice rest
as resistance;
i am learning to
be here to do so with you.
home is when we are warm.
i am trying to unravel belonging
from place: 'safety' in closed borders
creates others to fear.
i have never felt so loved
until i was told:
we are all we have.
i picture myself on that scratchy
towel,
my ass on a dark teal couch
on a snowy morning,
breathing into
the bottom of my belly.
This poem is a response to the prompt "warmth" from the week of December 6, 2020.
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