suburban square dance
never have i relished grocery trips quite like this:
the suburban dads in heavy plaid polo,
khaki shorts with more pockets than
any one human could ever need.
i breath just a little heavier through
the bandana i got what feels like
a lifetime ago,
Go Texan Day —
it’s funny how it reminds me
of what we’re doing right now,
all standing together,
a rigid six feet apart.
we go through the motions
of do-si-do,
side-step the wandering stranger,
we keep our feet moving so we don’t fall,
God forbid
we let our minds grapple with the new reality
we’re only starting to realize.
Forgive me —
starting to think
God has nothing to do with it.
i just want to hug them —
throw our phones into the river,
let it consume the thoughts,
the regrets of all the morbid lasts
i still remember from
the last Thursday
of Normal.
everyone telling us the ‘young people’ are selfish —
risking their parents, their Nana’s lives
(the people who raised them, they add)
for some momentary gratification,
some trivial nonsense of existing
before financial independence.
Yes — I’ll let these months slip through
my fingers like sand from that beach
we sat on together in January,
thinking the air couldn’t be crisper,
we couldn’t ever feel more alive.
to see my mother smile,
shoulders relaxed, knowing the worst is
over:
I’d give my life for that.
It’s the memories that keep us alive
when the sensations are just a little duller,
the dreams that shake us into realizing
there’s still life out there
to devour,
sunshine yet to be basked in.
join me in the kitchen some night,
when the streetlights give out to
exhaustion, sigh in the darkness
and square dance
like we used to,
until the thoughts wash away
and all that’s left is laughter,
rolling through us like what I remember
living feels like.
Grace Beilstein is a sophomore at The Kinkaid School in Houston, Texas. She writes flash fiction, poetry, and prose. She is one of three main editors of her school's award-winning literary magazine "Falcon Wings."
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