My finger is loose. Just a little bit.
The joints stretched out. Knuckles aren’t bones
anymore, they’ve been surgically replaced
with giggles. Loosey goosey giggles.
Fingers become a hand, spine, arms & legs.
My hips are loose, too. They were made that way.
When the ambulance went by, there were wings
behind it, angels (I believe), tethered
in the wind as if by ribbons. That’s me,
now, how I feel. As if I have been tied
together, loosely, with pretty ribbons,
satin ribbons, tangling in a tight twist.
Loose joints. Loose in body. Loose in mind. Loose
in time. Time to pause. Everything pauses.
Time is stretched out. Freeze. Frame. Stop. Motion. Yes.
It’s not a breaking, just disconnection.
The sentence of my body has become
a paragraph. The words of my bones stretch
apart, away from each other, only
loosely associated. Commas choke
down into periods, the same words
but separate, and somehow still something
that belongs together. Almost. My mind
stutters. The giggles vaguely remember
aching, injured into numbness. Thoughts, too.
Sound reaches me through silence, so slowly.
Sensation, too. Floating. Hammer, anchor,
stirrup disconnect. When I walk, the cloud –
the cloud I have become jostles,
jostles all the jumbled bits leisurely
along. Run. Running is impossible.
When I turn, it is little by little.
Like dancing in outer space, or something
heavy suspended in a tornado.
Graceful, beautiful, awkwardly lovely.
Pieces moving in the same direction
only because when they began moving
they were all together. When the wind stops,
when gravity begins, what will happen?