Imagine our first home, a time when we knew no fear.
Close your eyes and turn your face to the sun–this was our first light.
Hold the webs of your fingers above a flashlight– that red glow was our world.
The plush warmth of a giant membrane, a kind of palace.
Between systolic and diastolic
Between rising and falling, a gentle rise, a gentle fall, a fluid absorber of shock
Between in-breath and out,
We lived in a symphonic buzz of warmth.
When we left this palace, our tender flesh bumped against cold plastic and table edges.
We couldn’t see above countertops where the palace guards chopped carrots and onions
for our broth.
We swam in the flux between fear of death in this cold, sharp place
And a desire to please the palace guards, the ones who had control over our survival.
The guards had forgotten they too once lived under the protection of the symphonic membrane.
All they remembered was their desire to survive.