• Katie Frieheit

Neither One Nor Two

I am a child

Who finds them self framed in the afternoon sun.

Static fibre of rough carpet on knees and elbows

With bare feet tucked into my belly.

I am linen

Pinned to twine lines.

Mimicking moth wings in porch light

Dancing the waltz with the wind.

I’m am a flame

Licking the bones of dry birch.

Swimming up to meet the sky

Piercing glass eyes with smoke.

I am grandfathers hand

Calloused and scared

Dry against my supple palm

That offers reassurance in a messy world.

But most of all,

I am a body.

Multiplicities leak out

From hands and eyes and ears.

What a burden

To be ashamed of such beautiful catastrophe.

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