Return Trip

The needle dropped. That bassline

a low thrum in the floorboards,

up through my bare feet.

And I just moved.

Not thinking, not posing.

Just a sway, then a dip,

a turn that felt like coming home.

My lungs burned, sharp and clean,

a beautiful ache.

My own sweat, cool on my skin.

The ceiling fan, a blurred hum,

the world outside, just outside.

This skin, these bones,

not a cage, not a burden,

but a familiar house,

finally, mine again.