High Flying

I left my rib cage on a street in South Philly in mid-January. The following day, my best friend clipped in rows and rows of hair extensions, a transition into a woman who didn’t give a fuck. 

2001 claimed my pelvic region, and below, actually. From belly button to high thigh, the two fleshy things I walk on meeting at a point of erasure. This pelvis, I left her on the stark bed of a high school athlete turned college frat ass. The next day, I ate at a diner and tried to piece my way back. 

A butch lesbian threw me against a fence in the late 2000’s, maybe 2009. As I turned myself around, she struck my face. Animal instincts kicked in; years of trauma never released from these bones fueling my pace, and I took her and threw her against a picnic table. That high flying level of alertness stayed in my muscles for days.

9 years old, I think, and my father strung me up against a wall as if my neck was the backing of a picture frame. Nailed me straight into it, spit fire into my face. 

The tears come frequently. The body has weight. The body is still “the body” to me.

I never considered these losses. For years, I was drunk on anything that was cheap and I always had a friend who worked at a bar or restaurant or rotten hole. I laugh now about how predictable my body was, how she craved the alcohol but didn’t always have the cash. Mini bottles, a dollar or two each, could fill her up and blot her out for the night. 

There was so much falling down- down stairs, in the street, up stairs, in the middle of a crowd, in front of that bodega after a turkey sandwich. 

I wrote her a letter once; thanked her for having the heartiest, lost rib cage. Bones fractured but still content with safeguarding our heart. She healed, she went back to work, she did it without a complaint. 

I know I still owe her an apology but I am very busy drafting emails to old lovers and their new lovers and old friends. I am committed to a cleansing; a releasing but I haven’t made my way back to her just yet, made my way back to you just yet. The cinder blocks clouding my view are of such industrial weight.

I have been reckless with you, at times believed I didn’t need you, and to this day, I am most happy floating above my skull. Air sign, vata, libra stellium; you allowed me to deny you a proper footing. A proper grounding. I had my aura read and all that showed up was violet and cobalt- only sky, and sky and sky.