Slow to the quick, inflict these maddening wounds —deeper yet for the intrusion of time by trust. Fresh cuts will take a stitch, leaving contoured maps in tangled depiction of when or where, but never how, or—most vexing—why. Dare to reassemble, reorder, uplifted by soothing breath. Remember, Atlas bore no less than the sky above.
Tag: identity
Shapeshift
I am a shape. I punctuate my day, depending: declaration, question, exclamation, pause, question, connection. I am round in spots, shifting angles elsewhere, freeform otherwise. I am stretched and resewn. My spirals are symmetric. I am edges, and landings, and in between. I am four walls, or four legs, filled with light, or with blood… Continue reading Shapeshift
What small percentage of my life have I devoted to the examination in the mirror of my jawline assessing its relative definition in reflection of the definition of me. What thoughts do I entertain at the arc of my back, at shadow, at curve. I am so exquisitely aware of the negative space adjacent, of… Continue reading
caroline ridgway 