i remember decorating our imaginary new york apartment for christmas in english class.
i always pictured our nest up high in the skyscrapers
and spent hours thinking about what it would be like when we were finally old enough to fly out of our midwestern childhood.
the future felt distant then and it was.
a few years later our early 20s dawned in darkness
and by the time the lights came back on the dusk of 25 was already setting in.
we’ve built our little nests in different places now, a long flight from each other.
mine is quiet and warm
softened with bits of downy comfort i’ve collected or shed myself and repurposed into a home.
yours is tiny and cozier for it
when i came to visit we just had room for the two of us and the shiny tchotchkes you have magpied.
it felt so good to be together again.
every time i remember what it’s like i wonder why i don’t live closer
i’d trade a lot of things to hear your voice from my couch instead of speakerphone.
the seasons are changing now and i feel the shift in myself too
a readiness to release what i’ve been holding onto with the trees.
maybe it’s time
time for a return to the first dream that pulled our imaginations like a magnet to that metallic city
a return to the sleepovers and kitchen singing of girlhood
a return to the raw raging promise of adolescence
a second first chance at the breathless freedom of 22 that we had to forfeit to become women
and then to become something else again.
i’ve often wondered if metamorphosis is painful
i’ve always found the dissolution of my past self to create the next one painful but you pay the toll to cross the bridge
does anyone else have doubts in the chrysalis?
how many deaths and resurrections can i survive in a lifetime?
hopefully one more (forever)Return to issues