If you jump in my house, the whole ground shakes.
The furniture shudders.
I avoid jumping too high because,
What if my parents come back, what if my house shatters.
In my house something snaps and breaks if you move
the wrong way, too fast or strong or flamboyant.
Something breaks if you’re too sensual.
either my mother’s sand sculptures, or her heart.
When my parents leave the house, and it’s just me,
I jump as high as I possibly can.
I stop myself from bending my knees to soften the impact.
I learned to bend my knees because people who move well
can absorb the impact themselves,
and leave their surroundings intact.
their traditions.
but i need to jump with straight legs to remember
that if nothing else, at least the ground can support all of me,
that the impact usually absorbed,
that the daily stew of ‘find you a wife’ impact,
Can shake the ceramics until they slide off-center, but
doesn’t actually truly have enough force behind it
to shatter my mother, or her mother's art
to reassure myself, convince myself that if one day
i jump straight-legged as high as i can while my parents are home,
thud landing, followed by a tense snap,
I won’t find that the tension I’ve broken was the thing keeping me from myself.
But for now I can only hope that to be the case.
