by Robin Percyz
What are we if not
together?
I don’t want to sit in the empty
home of that answer.
My refrigerator hums in baritone, a depressed roommate.
It takes all of the women in me to lift this body, walk the old dog of myself.
When I’m out there, I look for it.
The little big things.
The ways humanity exposes itself under the wool of winter.
When we bundle ourselves in isolation and method act madness,
but the warmth of our skin bares
itself in the gentle ways we save one another.
When the door is held open for someone’s arms full of struggle.
The way the creases hugging our eyes work harder to hello
when language is locked by a mask.
When someone asks the unhoused person what they want
to eat, how a choice can feed them
dignity before pizza.
The municipal sanitation worker sways down the road, his cape
of dreadlocks float behind, like a superhero. He greets every human.
I told him I believed him, that he wasn’t acting,
that he formed a beach out of February with his smile.
He said, we’re all in this together.
I take him with me,
my sharp edges sandpapered smooth
as I swim upstream
inhaling the air someone exhales and again and again.
We save each other from being alone.
And now that I know this togetherness
I can’t unknow it.
What are we if not together?
Robin Percyz (she/her) is a queer writer from New York. As a member of The Society for Menstrual Cycle Research, she presented her piece, “Boxing and Bleeding” at their Conference in 2011 with Gloria Steinem in attendance. She has been published on literary journals/magazines and in print on Ink & Marrow Lit, En*gendered Lit Mag, Tension Literary, Writerly Magazine (Paperbacks & Co), and Tulip Tree Pub. She was a competitive amateur boxer for four years and now strives to help others feel visible through her work.
