I am a map

I am a map. A constellation in form. My hand rests on the soft hair of the beloved in my arms, as my leg reaches and rests upon the carpet. Two places, at once. And many more if you include the points of contact between me, my couch, my daughter in my arms. I am her, I am me, I am the rug that touches my toe.

This constellation sighs and breathes her in. There is grief and joy and love. A longing for space away while also delighting in the snuggle. It’s not only these sensations but all of them.

I’m no single coordinate in time. I’m a map of coordinates and places and memories, hopes and dreams. And everything that has been before me.

I’m here right now and I’m somewhere else all at once. The space between me and anything else shrinks as I realize this, but my timelessness expands.

I edge myself out of her arms to tend the pile of dishes in the sink. I’m a bit relieved for one less sensation in my body.

This realization becomes unbearable at times, holding the vastness is a skill in capacity and restraint. I must forget this infinite essence in order to washes the dishes. But because I’ve remembered, the dishes are a miracle.

My life has conspired to bring me to this sink, dwelling on the constellation of myself, scrubbing spaghetti while the children play in the background.

A hysterical manic laugh threatens at the endless absurd miracle of this life. I am humbled. I am a map.