Creating our way out of fascism
My nervous system has been a wreck since Trump came to the presidency or even before that. So I made a promise to myself to write something every week, in order to calm myself down. I wrote this at the end of our most recent heat wave this April.
Stealing a line from Mary Oliver:
“I hardly move but really I’m traveling,” Mary says.
A rare heat wave passed through 48 hours ago. I’m in my basement with the heater on. There’s fog and a chill again. This basement room is where I go to be still. To glide from the ordinary to the places hawks know.
I lift myself up into a small relevé, flat foot to ball mount. My right ankle grinds through a 2-year-old injury. Hands on the ground and hips in a pike. This downward dog lends itself to regeneration.
I raise myself an inch. A secret elevator. Hardly moving. But really I’m traveling. Into a tilt. Into tiny flight that depends on knowing exactly where the ground is. That depends on the earth’s spinning and swearing. Gravity swaddles me when I come down.
-Jo Kreiter
