after this we never get to be ourselves again

sample sized self

I, on the other hand, am completely aware of who I am right now. I am a woman who got up this morning and spoke to a wonderful friend, who had a beautiful hair cut. I got some bad news, but getting that het up about it is no longer that important: what’s done is done. I am a woman who had a sweet chai latte and an egg and lettuce sandwich. I posted my report. Now I’m reading another. Later I will go home and it will rain. The wind will stir the trees. We will all go Greek. The meal will be sweet and sour and I’ll lick my fingers free of salt. I am devoid of subtext. I abhor duality. I loathe the mirroring quality of power. I do not suffer scattergun lust. And today I said something to someone which had been true but unsaid before now and when I said it, it did not feel so big or so horrible I could not breathe. I just said it, and it was true, and I did not cry, nor did I feel myself limbless and remembering that limb. I just said it and it was about me. And it was about you. And it was just what it was. Immediately we forgot all about it.

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

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