back in my body

when i am on the brink of a panic attack,

when that familiar feeling begins to build in my body,

my therapist tells me to visualize a place

that feels safe to me.

so i close my eyes and see the little patch of woods

to the left of my childhood home.

i can feel the soft pine needles underneath my bare feet.

i can smell the earth.

the delight of a humid july morning.

oh, all the hours i spent sitting in arms of those trees!

climbing 40 feet up,

memorizing every branch,

coming inside covered in sap and dirt.

i remember how it felt,

the childlikeness, the wonder, the presence.

—

in my dreams,

i'm cutting up cantaloupe in the kitchen,

and nothing bad has ever happened to us.

suddenly it's may.

three summers have passed,

and i am just now waking up.

that whole time i kept thinking,

this is my new self. this is who i am now.

really i was there all along.

just buried underneath three tons

of god-forsaken grief.

—

finally, summer!

my romanticized sunset dreams

are unfolding right before my very eyes.

our kitten yawns in my ear.

we both slept in today.

i want to be alive again.

it's a wednesday,

and i drive to the mountains alone,

just to jump in the river and say that i did.

this time i feel it all:

the fear and the boredom and the discomfort.

i've never been so happy to feel afraid.