I rise before the sun. I don’t take auto-correct at face value. I honor my
dentist’s appointment. She wants to know if I found love. I read Dragons
Love Tacos to toddlers. Make their valentines. Schedule my pap smear at
the women’s clinic. They want to know if I am active. I smile to say I am
Gatsby without the money. Rinse and scrub all china before the gathering
of a dry film. Separate the whites (eggs & linen). Unsubscribe from the
daily horoscope. They want to know if I found the missing half of my
soul. Fill myself with B6, B12, TED talks and extracts of dandelion. I play
pretend dog-family with rich kids. I am on all fours. I am babysitter puppy.
I lunge. Spin. Crunch. Cross train. Register for a marathon, a lunch pop
up, a protest march. I hold up a banner bigger than me, scream HAVE
SOME MERCY. Hit a wall. Drill holes for a shelf on my own. At
Halloween, I am Riveter Rosie. I wear a fitness bracelet to know more
about me in numbers. It calculates even when I dream. Throw impromptu
dinner parties. Compose cheese platters. Scan labels to check how my
chicken was raised. I wonder if my eggs are good enough
to be donated. Children at the daycare guess my age as either seven or
three hundred and twenty-six. Today I am the tickle monster. In the
shower, do the macarena to see if I still can shake it. Fold and
unfold myself into a flash mob. I scrape mold off the Victorian ceiling.
Let the adjustable ladder rest where it stay out of sight. Bring home air
plants. I learn something about growing without roots.
Preeti Vangani is a writer living in the Bay Area.