Waking up in the back of a truck again. My eyes developed without the necessary mycelia.
I never felt sturdy until solid ground, even if it was missing something that most people would suck their teeth at right away.
No ceiling fans in my morning scenes. Breathing soft to keep my nostrils still, my chest flat, my belly low.
What did I dream about? Is it safe to follow the gentle lumination or did fire snakes pull the blinds over what really went down and cover those first easy access moments to grace and truth with a different story?
I have dressed in the dark, listening to the quiet hum of tires, smelling nothing but sweat and the trace of rubber cuffs in the back of trucks meant to ship produce.
I have dressed in the dark believing that I was about to bail into a ditch because it was my stop and that there are some things I haven’t been afraid of for a while now.
There have been trucks with windows. I think I’ve seen the world through tiny squares of plastic.
There have been trucks where the only window connected the cab to the cargo space.
Conversation doled out like spinach to my growing inner child. The girl who still believes that being intelligent is important. The one who will tie herself into pretzel knots to please.
She believes the world is too expansive to understand. She is the one who cannot see both the details and the greater picture at the same time.
To wing a girl like that as she learns to fly seemed to be a risk not worth taking.
What does a tilted child understand about unconditional love? She knows it is real and that it exists, not the details.
Let me pen in the details. The scariest short story she’s ever heard.
After rolling through the ditch and asking the crows to shut the fuck up, I look back to check that the truck didn’t notice the slight difference in weight.
Without this suit, the bruises and fractures would really hurt.
All of them are seeking the meadow. That same place I sat face to face with Sharon Tate.
We know to varying degrees and with varying levels of faith that something beyond my dreams will meet me there.
Most days we walk through ditches and marshes that lead to mysterious packages. And the held breath courage of if-they-kill-me-someone-else-will-keep-it-going allows us to unwrap all that we find.
One day, I believe, we will sink our bare toes into the real sand.
This, I carry in a place that nobody can access with torn nails and bitten, sunburned lips.