one of each

One of each.
And a pinch of me. That's all it takes
to scoop and seethe.
The tile is cold and creeps up the goose bumps
from my toes.
And I shake.
One hand over my opposite arm.
Warming with a breath and a shiver and shake of my head.
I'm toe stepping on my dance partner
or slow dancing with my father in the living room to old records.
I'm clumsy
trying to avoid the ice floor.
Goddamn, socks would be nice.
It's a simple craving and a goofy dance.
I stand, without shirt, in the white tile.
It feels like home in here.
A very cold home.

I wish sunshine were in each of these jars.
This morning could be the soft white light,
that kind that settles like ash over my head,
setting my eyes to lazy, I casually lean on a newspaper,
and slowly walk to calm.
Other ones can contain summer hot sun searing through curtains
and swelling sweat down each temple. And if another person is there,
when this jar is opened, you'll sweat on each other and mat hair to the forehead
when your lips talk on top of one another.
And sure, to the right, or in the back of the group,
is that cloud driven swirl of downtrodden.
But the kind of light that fits the mood.
A gray that validates your sad, not creates it.

One of each.
I don't feel like choosing because I could fit my heart into all 3 moods.
So, I let God pick and just hope there is a choice in the group that makes this
floor a little warmer because I don't feel like putting the weight of a shirt on.
I'd rather suffer the chill and wait for the sky to change.

Photo by Sadie Whitehead.  Words by Jordan Lane Shappell.