On the first day of the year I make my friends a cake.
she says "so do you...identify as a fat femme?"
I look down at my belly in the mirror, I feel giant.
I look at her thighs with awe, I feel small.
I thought I was being an ally when I said "and so what if I WAS fat, what would happen then?"
but hurt squirms on both sides of any gesture, of any actual trying, and I feel immediately my flaws.
practice my best strong-spined vulnerability and stay there.
We make a salad and she meets me, slowly.
How do I walk so that the firmness of loud steps does not negate the ripples of complexity?
Scale- I hum to myself, and then shake my head: Here again the same terrain:
The small corner of my paralysis and that way it hurts, how much smaller and yet real.
Next this year, I am stepping in to a stew of space-taking
Everyone deserves, but deserving disproportionately to account for trauma.
My huge capacity to fill my sliver of feeling.
My disproportionate energy,
I remind myself, is still a small amount of humanity and of time.
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