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  • My sister took a 16 hour Greyhound bus and a ferry by herself, in order to hold a koala on the Magnetic Island of Australia. While she was there, she went to a full moon party on the beach and watched fire dancers, and got hit on by a guy who had a girlfriend, but wanted to pay for her to gallivant around for the weekend. I’m holding a computer on my lap with a dusty screen, and the heat is making my thighs red, and I’m imagining what it would be like to have a baby, and if we should plan a trip to India first. All of this both makes me giddy and makes me want to take a nap.
  • A woman in her seventies with dyed red hair and boobs that fold into her belly, is holding her wire rimmed glasses steady on her face; it’s windy and she’s nervous that they’re going to fall off as she hikes up the overpass. She’s squinting and her square purse is tapping at her left thigh with each step like a metronome. I stop, after passing her on the right, and hold my phone in place to photograph a curly golden party ribbon on the street, and because of this, I miss my train and am late to work.
  • I’m holding the hand of my first boyfriend while watching Homeward Bound at the Garden Cinema. I can feel the sweat release from his palm and gather into a little puddle of condensation between us. We experiment with interwoven fingers, and then go back to the cross-palm clasp. He gets a hand cramp. I go to the bathroom and come back with some Junior Mints.

    I’m holding my mom’s hand while she’s in the hospital. We close our eyes and she tells me to give her energy. We say energy energy energy over and over again. I’m 7 or so, and once I envision what my energy looks like, I’m trying really hard to imagine it moving through my little being and into hers. She's my idol and I want her to get better.

    I’m holding the small hand of a 1 year-old boy as we walk across the street together. His little fingers are just resting on mine, fluttering about, looking for stability. I can feel him wobbling toward independence and I am extra conscious of the cars whizzing by.
  • I’m holding onto a black pen and I’m all hunched over drawing on a piece of brown paper. I’m sitting by an almost burnt out tea light and I’m intermittently taking sips of strong ginger tea and honey. It’s 11:30 at night and the windows are open and I’m listening to an album we used to listen to on repeat over a decade ago. He comes home, and is over the moon that I’m drawing, and listening to that album. He loves me when I’m like this, and he tells me so.
  • I’m holding on to three plates and the one resting on my left thumb is too hot and it’s burning me, but I’m already mid way thru the restaurant, so I keep going. I imagine I’m going to drop it on the lady’s lap, and the jus from the steak will drip onto her white dress and down her leg. I imagine I’ll have to kneel by her veiny calf and wipe it up, and when I do I’ll notice the rag looks pretty with the jus and the wood floor, and I’ll forget what I’m doing, and then laugh. I imagine that if it was a lady that asked for her steak served rare, she wouldn’t be too upset. But this lady asked to have hers well done, so I don’t see much room for error. I tell myself to stop imagining that, because the imagination is powerful, so I imagine that l get it to her safely, and I do.
  • Holding in pee on car trips, holding out for an awesome job, withholding my own words to listen more carefully to yours.
  • I’m holding onto a lint roller and she’s bent over in a black cotton dress and tights with a rip in the back thigh, and I’m rolling the pills off of her in the middle of the teeny cluttered office. Around us, one coworker plays chess on his phone, another applies purple eyeliner in a small mirror, and another sips on her Chia seeds in water.
  • I’m holding tension in my left upper arm from continuously lifting weights improperly. Weights I was taught to use by my personal trainer Felix, to get in good shape for my wedding, which I was motivated and a little embarrassed to do. I never thought I’d be that woman, but I was-sort of. And maybe I hurt myself because Felix didn’t really believe in the machines; he believed in running and his intense cross-training classes. He was so handsome, and from Barcelona, and apologized profusely for having coffee breath at our first session. I should’ve asked for more guidance on how to use that one machine, but I was stubborn and wanted to figure it out myself.
  • Holding patterns--lots of them.
  • I’m holding a picture of myself in a florescent pink tube top with my arms on my hips while standing on a black sand beach in Hawaii. I’m remembering all of the crushed green and rosy guavas smashed all over the sand. I remember how even that perfect contrast of colors and tropical heat couldn’t get us to change our minds about moving to San Francisco. It was while holding glasses of sangria on a foggy night with older Cuban men drumming out renditions of Many Chao songs, that we knew we had to live in the city instead.
  • I'm holding space for you to soften. You're so tender under all of that skin and muscle and clenched jaw. Unfold, untangle, unsnarl, unwind.
  • I am here to hold you.

    Music by Fink off the album Fresh Produce (the one we used to listen to over and over)
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