slow twitch fibers require more time to kick-in the skinny PT encourages use of vaginal weights while she stands at her sink rinses organic lettuce pulls the string on the spinner
15 minutes into her body repetitive contractions peak in a bright red line on the computer screen she bends her knees lifts inside herself deep central levator ani up toward core-heart keeps breathing and talks her way through death weans her child flattens her belly supports her waning bladder
they take more oxygen she realizes, as if breath might be the answer once again
the rami formed in terror disrupted slow build reinforced quick-twitch and she flew in fear, shivered quaked, held her breath let go of the power built in solitary silence that which lifts us over time
we echo like some awful remake poorly filtered cross our arms and look down on the trendy grimace of the ten year old as he confronts his empty wishing well full of cell phone fantasy and late night swims hidden in the dark a place our aging hearts rarely venture that death place that earliest fall
it is the echo of myself I want to talk to now out of the ashes to tell me how this story-frond unfurls replicated boys gather over and over brotherly lovely grief stilled in peripheral urns boxed and bound banter ricochets across rooms or via satellite everyone ends up laughing at the same songs the winning score when my tall son smiled near the end of his season after another 3 points years of bleachers hidden sorrows grave visits mellowed tell her she knew how to grow into this future self let her in on a secret the story is easy follow the path
Ahh, the dangers of a symbolic mind, so connected to detritus, so fond of the fading water stain on a poster-tube with its blue Par Avion sticker still intact.
