Hot Like Fire

and now we stand here and we realize that we could not contain this past in our lungs, our hands,

There is no wrong way to remember the grace of your own body; no choice that can unmake itself. There is only now, here, look: you are already forgiven.

[H]er body is getting away from her, it is no longer the straightforward expression of her individuality; it becomes foreign to her; and at the same time she becomes for others a thing: on the street men follow her with their eyes and comment on her anatomy. She would like to be invisible; it frightens her to become flesh and to show her flesh.

Sometimes, I still can’t believe it. That you happened and I happened and this was the best we could do. Our nest of rubbish, our flowerless garden—we slept here. Made love among the bottle caps and ants and mold.

I am trying to learn how to give and foster forgiveness in a body that wants none of it.