I carry you with me,
In my pockets, I carry you, as crumpled up receipts. There’s the one from the cafe, where I had coffee and a croissant. I sat by the window and watched the traffic through large, overgrown bushes. When the sun became too bright for me to keep staring outward, I moved my gaze inside, but it was blurred.
In the soles of my shoes, I carry you, as crushed rock and dirt that makes its way from the industrialized streets into my cozy home. Where I fold laundry cross legged on the floor. It’s only when I stand to put away long sleeved work shirts, that I feel the pinch of a rock between my pinkie toe that I remember you.
In pens, I carry you. The fancy ones that I buy, the ones I hide from everyone in the house, because the fancy pens are a secret treat. Eventually though, they’ll leak out onto the bottom of my purse. I suppose this is your cruel joke, leaving a blue inky mess over my lipstick, rosary and the receipt from the cafe.
I have and probably will continue to drag you throughout my days. Throughout each event in my life.
Its as if you are a tiny yellow parakeet and my mind is the elaborate golden cage in which you stay perched.
I carry you, but you also carry me-
into a place that I can retreat when I start to bemoan the very existence of days. You allow me to disengage, dislodge, disarm.
On a good day, a daydream.
When the night sneaks up on me, tip toeing into the living room and casting a shadow across my chest and onto my lap
and my body is too exhausted for much more,
I carry you up the stairs,
coiled tightly in my arms
as I unpin my hair and it spills onto the pillow,
I open the door to my mind
and let you escape-
knowing you’ll be back again when the sun is ready
to peek in my window, it’s wicked dance leaping onto my face
into the corners of my eyes, screeching for me to get on with it already
There you’ll be,
asking me to carry you
and I will.