|
Gravity
I know the feel of it. I know how it makes my stomach feel: like the inside of a trout’s check caught by a hook, yanked hard, tearing. I understand the feel of it as it crushes my body into the ground. The numbers of the scale dictate the scale of the argument and the weight pulls me down—gravity makes it grave, makes it heavy, makes it a weight on my shoulders dragging me down. I understand the gravity of gravity. I know what every ounce means: every ounce of excess form has an ounce of excess feeling safety-pinned right alongside. Gravity means shedding pounds. Gravity means counting, it means numbers—the reverse mathematics of physical weight and mental weight. Gravity is a fishhook in my belly. Gravity is physical. Gravity is every mouthful I consume and what those mouthfuls do to me— —it is my mind that gravity crushes— —into the ground. |
|
Gravity
9.24.03 154 words |