Pairs

Like Noah, I start with pairs. 

Body parts, not animals. 

Lips without someone to kiss.

Arms for function, purely utilitarian.

Not wrapped around anyone.

 

Working my way down…

until I arrive at my feet.

They move me, 

even as I go nowhere. 

Not helping, so I move on. 

 

Food. 

Heat. 

Convenience.

Blah, blah, blah. 

Nope.

 

I dig deeper, by going to the surface.

My nice teeth and good hair.

I’m thin.

Lucky, I’ve been called.

Want to trade, I think?

 

Finally I arrive at the only thing that pierces through. 

A glimmer of hope.

And at the same time,

Darkness to infinity.

I’m here. 

Allison Futterman writes creative nonfiction, flash fiction, and poetry. She can be found at allisonfutterman.com.

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