*Warning: Adult language ahead!
There are no mirrors in this room—only me, only you.
It’s a nice room. We are staring at ourselves. Not with our eyes but with our past and our present.
Today we see tight. Cotton or elastic or polyester or linen.
Belted around our belly, strapped around our hips, twisted around our legs. We see thighs rubbing together. We see bumps on our back. We grab at whatever is there. Between our fingers.
Our mountains of what? Our mountains of what does that feel like? Does it feel like hate? Or disappointment? Or sadness? Or frustration?
Energy rushes. From my brain. A pinpricked heat. To my mountains. Do you feel this too?
We talk. We talk about them. About them saying. Do this or do that.
They say schedule it
Learn to love it
Don’t fat it
Don’t carb it
Carb it a bit
Look like this
Look like that
So you can look down
They have said a lot. We have said a lot. We learned the language and that’s okay. We want to shine. But we don’t feel shiny. They are not in this room. There’s only me, only you.
You look at me. I look at you. You say, “F*ck that”
I turn on the music
In jumps and whoops
Now we see loose. Cotton or elastic or polyester or linen.
Free around our belly, flowing around our hips, liberated around our legs, thighs apart. Open back. Massaging whatever is there. Between our fingers
Our lush valleys of what?
Our lush valleys of what does it feel like?
Does it feel like
Our heart is beating primitive
Or circulating air
Or silky hot blood
Or singing skin?
Is there a rushing from your body to your brain, of gentle sunlight, of rain?
Falling down your cheeks. Through your past and present. Ravishing you in acceptance. In movement.
So let’s be this. Let’s stay here for a while. You and me and the f*ck that.
Love elephant and want to go steady?
Author: Kaylia Dunstan
Apprentice Editor: Kim Haas / Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock
Photo: Seattle Municipal Archives via Flickr