Photo by K.B. Imle

Somewhere amongst the countless hours
Of noon I remove my sunglasses
And step out of the shade
And then layer by layer
My clothing goes: hat first
Then the sleeves of my shirt
Then the shirt itself.

I step out of my long skirt
Leaving a trail of useless fabric
Behind me down the yellow
Centerline of the road I can
Barely see, drowning now
In all this light. It is the same light
I lived in as a child
When I ran through trees whose leaves
Filtered it so it ran pure gold
Deep into afternoons that burned
Down to claret dreams I consumed
Like a miniature goddess drunk on
Stolen wine.

Now I am leaving my undergarments
In a small pile and walking out naked
Into the endless afternoon
Arms raised in artless thanks
Like a saguaro or a Joshua tree
Or a crazy woman dancing down
A dusty road talking to power lines
And passing birds and shaken motorists
Not giving a fuck
Whether any of them answer
Because she’s light
As air
Light as the particles
Singing along her skin
Light as light itself.

Memoirist. Poet. SourcePoint practitioner and Rolfer. Living on a small island off the western edge of sanity.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store