Photo / Mike Labrum
When the fingers won't touch, how do I make myself into a prayer?
I gather breath like an invisible blanket
I say the name of a friend out loud even if they're nowhere near me
I become innocence, looking wondrously upon each detail, expecting nothing and welcoming miracles
When my palms won't meet in the center where skin is soft, how do I turn the minutes inside out until there is only gratitude - a fiery hymn
Until there is only joy - an electric mantra
I take out the I
Exhale - folds of the blanket unfurl
Warmth spreads across the coldness between what once was me and now is everything
I am a Portland, Oregon based writer, filmmaker and choreographer. I believe stories dissolve the grip of isolation and return us to each other.