Hindsight is 2021 Sarah Licht
We can only grow in solitude, and isolation has been plentiful, rivers enough of its pungent syrup to pollute the oceans and heed the call for proper environmentalism. I imagine myself floating in it, embracing what I once wished drowned me. I used to water avocado pits until spindly roots erupted from their wooden cores. I’d like to imagine myself the same, yet perhaps less magnificent as nascent life. Gnarled as clumps of dust has always suited me better, as much as growth, change, suits any of us, makes us any closer to normal. I never knew what happened to them. I always threw the pits out when they grew too large for their own good. Maybe I want someone to do the honors when it’s my turn.
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The year is hardly halfway through, and already I feel myself ready to be culled, plucked from the pieces that no longer fit in weeks-old piles of laundry. Imagine me a garage sale, produce stand, overflowing with parts ready to be given away, aspects once loved despite their bruises, the large cracks that perhaps someone else could embrace. Please, take the most brilliant, ripest in color, and leave the rest to me.
