My Inner Bitch Is Rising

I Just Remembered I Had a Spine

I have slouched.
I have literally slouched
so long I am bent.

Yesterday at Ralphs,
a woman in the vegetable aisle smiled and said,

pretty dress.

I stood up straight,

pulled my shoulder blades onto my back
like closing wings,

and stood tall—

so tall for the first time in years,
my spine uncoiling,
remembering it once belonged to me.

So tall I could see us all
moving below me.

My apartment, abandoned.
The couch where we used to eat dinner
still holding us
like teeth marks in soft fruit.

My yellow bed where I sobbed for years
soft beneath me,
a life raft
in a cruel country made of salt.

So tall I could see it all:

my parents buying geraniums
after winter,

their hands moving through dirt
like they were digging me up.

Our house in Holland
waiting at the edge of the water,

the dune grass swaying,
nodding yes yes yes.

My inner bitch is rising too.

She has been down there for years,
knees to chest,
swallowing keys.

Look—

she’s unfolding.

For spine maintenance and emotional verticality.