I can’t face today..
I can’t face today..
I can’t face today..
my heart sheepishly beat
Join the living..
Join the Living..
Join the living..
throbbed a synchronized aching
hour after excruciating passing hour, I drag my being
doing things for the sake of getting them done
joining the swarm of callous traffic, becoming another vehicle
in the carbon dirty, energy depleting avalanche, of reckless, absent-minded
road users
seething with rage every time I caught them staring down at
their phones
an old festering fatigue wells up in me like a suppressed
scream, rushes through my blood
I reach my office, throw myself on the chair with a deep
tired sigh, as if I haven’t just spent 45 minutes sitting in the confinement of
my car
I’m tremendous, like a blade of grass is tremendous to an
ant, bent, weary, prone to breaking under the slightest weight
at home I numb my abusive thoughts with the flatness of
house chores, the deadness of cleaning, the monotonous, banal hand movement while
I mopped, the mechanical rhythmic swing of my arms left, then right. Is this my
drug?
The hard, purposeful shower stream on my drooping shoulders,
condoling me. I remember a Polish friend telling me, she felt two pounds
lighter after a soothing shower. Black henna coloring the swirl of water
around the drain.
spreading lotion on my body, calming. The only available human
touch
the small luxury of messaging my exhausted feet, rubbing
them with cream
recalling what a beauty guru - I used to follow on Instagram
– said: ladies! If the soles of your feet are dry and the skin hardened, no
amount of lotion will ever soften them, you must have a proper scrub, and a pedicure.
I can’t remember the last time I had a pedicure, I don’t intend to add it
to my endless list of things to do.
running my greasy fingers between my toes, my right calf
resting on my left thigh, cupping my foot in my hands, feeling the dry skin
turn buttery and rich. I notice the magnificence of their designed, the high feminine
arch between the heel and the pad, the Egyptian toes, a faint ripple pattern on
the soles like a receding tide leaves on the sand, their smallness, and their efficiency.
How strong they’ve been, carrying my weight, taking me where I needed to go;
hurried trips for groceries in flats, laboring on a treadmill in Nikes, or
scurrying in University corridors in seductive kitten heels.
I remember how he held up my left foot once, a long time
ago, in the beginning, when everything was sweet and new, when we were new to
each other, exploring each other’s bodies. He held my foot up for me to see, as
if I just couldn’t understand what a perfect little thing he had created
with his own hands, showing it to me. Holding it up - I thought - the way the
prince held Cinderella’s glass slipper, afraid, and in awe of its fragility.
