full circle
soundtrack: fall in love (remix), slum village
because it just might,
i dance like my life depends on it.
might be there is no rhythm without bodies.
that there are no bodies without rhythm.
find rhythm in memory of first language.
that first sound in the womb is the reverberation of a heartbeat.
like the sounds i repeat over & over, messages held like prayer; instinctive, conditioned,
comforting, involuntary.
music is a language i read with my body first.
if i could speak to you in music, i would.
instead, i dance & i write you.
it’s true that as people we share languages beyond words.
what is a drum & a bassline, but a heartbeat amplified & projected?
so, beads of sweat salting brow, black-matted hair, arms & legs moving humid in dark
& damp to rumbling bass is familiar.
the hotter the room, the thicker the air, the more laboured the breath, the closer i feel to
that first memory.
the faster i move, the more my heartbeat approaches the bpm of the
song. i am bringing my body in time.
my body in space is an unwieldy thing.
i have poor hand-eye coordination & am dotted violet in bruises from walking into walls,
furniture, & doorknobs.
maybe it’s a lack of depth perception or maybe it’s the ways in which i have been told i
can’t exist in this body.
or i can’t exist at all.
i am conscious of myself in all dimensions, conscious of my volume; torn between
resisting being tamed & wanting to recede into a more manageable shape,
except when i dance.
eyes closed, elbows out, only stopping when i place hands squarely on hips to catch
breath.
dancing comes as natural as breathing.
every breath, every rhythm, every time i dance, i cross time.
if i close my eyes in a dark room, it’s just me & your music.
when i close my eyes & hear don’t fall in love, it’s just me & sv.
there are as many paths to god as there are people.
there are as many ways to truth as there are paths.
i continue to follow, continue to fall, continue to fall into, continue to fall in love, over & over & over & over, because there is no end, no expiration.
not even in death. not even in death.
& it’s the power of suggestion
soundtrack: baby, j dilla ft. guilty simpson, madlib
danielle texts on wednesday.
says, “i would very much like to hold you as a baby.”
& a hidden underbelly opens
as this tender i didn’t know possible is born.
yes, you took the stylistics saying
“maybe it’s love this time” & i only hear
baby.
ear reading by your leading,
as ever. i follow without thinking.
see me as i stand here now, hold
me as i needed then. i send my baby
picture, she says, “i love baby you so much.”
long-held knots in my chest
loosen, small hurt unravels. i stand undone.
unlove a tightness only care can ease.
we both look into my baby eyes —
imagine a world safe enough for her to stay soft.
