Survival Instincts
I remember my seams
as any kite
at my best wind-
slicing angle
(good vistas hurting my sides,
grip for balcony railing).
At least we got here
considering no proper footwear.
What do I see
between pangs?
The ocean
like some kind of respiration.
The vague sensation that we’ll plummet,
out of air.
The feet clutch for balance,
even as they reroute us.
I see my parents’ house
and it warms me,
though no longer by radiator.
Five-year-old me still crouches,
falls asleep to the sound
of driving round Oakland Lake.
But now I can show
you the ropes, too,
joy ride beyond the narrow street
of self. If we crash,
we can swim.
as any kite
at my best wind-
slicing angle
(good vistas hurting my sides,
grip for balcony railing).
At least we got here
considering no proper footwear.
What do I see
between pangs?
The ocean
like some kind of respiration.
The vague sensation that we’ll plummet,
out of air.
The feet clutch for balance,
even as they reroute us.
I see my parents’ house
and it warms me,
though no longer by radiator.
Five-year-old me still crouches,
falls asleep to the sound
of driving round Oakland Lake.
But now I can show
you the ropes, too,
joy ride beyond the narrow street
of self. If we crash,
we can swim.
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