THINGS THAT REMIND ME I AM BREATHING

THINGS THAT REMIND ME I AM BREATHING:

slate floors [bare feet] and

blue-bucket showers [the water and the air hold each other] and

sweat dripping down the back of my right thigh and

soft hands whispering through my hair and

a heart-shaped hole in the sky and

layered laughter enveloping a pale greenish-beige bus and

hard rain and

singing too loudly in cars even though the windows are up and

0.38 mm pens [black or blue but never red] and

spinning [eyes closed, always] on forgiving grass and knowing that the earth will be there and

listening to hearts beat heartbeats and

silver-blue-gray-white-sky-and-clouds-and-moon eyes and

water melting into metal dishes [teal soap turning time] and

stained fingertips and

[when i remember how to breathe it is so much easier to love]

--Julia