Commensal Symbiosis

I can still remember the names of my entire first grade class. Ben K, Bowen J, Meredith H, Jill V. Now I’m all shower chair, single spacing, simple serotonins, and the whole time, stale Bazooka gum has persevered. We simply cannot drop what no longer serves us. // All storage spaces are albatrosses. Keep your shit contained or it will expand and transform, an untouchable burden. A bureau full of only socks, tightly rolled. A closet aching with rolls of wrapping paper. Would kill to be in a farce again, running in and out of doors, dripping, blinded from stage lights. // I do love to watch the different ways people get into cold water at my Saturday ocean dip. Some run and flop fully, others submerge slowly, holding their hands above the icy surface. I lower my beating heart inch by inch til I’m immersed to the neck. // Don’t forget: the other shoe will drop. Until then, limbo. The purgatory of the present. I once got seasick from floating in the gentlest waves and it made me so mad. Sensitive soul. Short sentences. Semaglutides. Sunday swims. Sorry, I’m straying. What I’m looking for here is a return to flow. Where I don’t even know that I’m swimming. Reach the orange buoy and tap it once for luck, then turn around to face the shore.