we both, wanted, to be headless mannequins
searching for ways to silence the noise upstairs
while the remainder of the body
did what the body does.
we wanted the mind
to wash the hands
while the hands
did what hands do.
maybe as kids
every print our feet made
was something inconceivable,
but eventually we saw wrinkles,
and the road not taken
already had hand-printed cement,
gum-stuck in the underneaths,
and what’s the point in walking
when dad can
carry us home?
there’s no shame in
choosing deep waters—
legs wiggling
to stay afloat—
or for knowing that if big waves are fun,
then bigger waves are better,
but we both hoped nothing below
would make us sink to their level.
