Two Figures from Your Past Arrive Bearing Gifts
Figure 1 says, “We never shared a bed, not even once.”
In her arms, a basket without fruit. A rounded stone without circumferences. You remember the day she rendered your fingers and toes in a speculative plasma. How funny they look! How subtly they wriggle!
How can one predict overharvesting without first placing a newborn baby within the context of population growth and map-making? There is one place on the map that is familiar to us. The town bears the names of strangers.
Figure 2 brings you reams of microfiche and textual diagrams. She brings you jangly keys and forest conservation brochures. Her touch cannot be replicated without alchemizing a human from fish parts and brightly-colored plastic seaweed.
She says, “Mass disappearances are commonplace now. That’s why we’ve been encouraged to transform into alternate life forms.”
The biggest move you ever made was rattling around in the bottom of her bag.
She says, “There is a curve or there is not a curve.” But how can one tell the difference? How can one envision the shape of an S without contorting their spine? Even figures from the past need ribbon-like appendages to become more than a collection of forgotten faces.
What if we had never heard the word deforestation? What if we never shared the discovery of a mole? Would we still recognize each other in enamel figurines, baby bones, or the skin of ghosts?
You recall an old adage that suggests symbols should not be beholden to the shackles of toddlerdom. That placing restraints on your elbows and knees is no way to heighten your passion. Turns out, the two figures are one and the same. Reproducing individuals, unite! We oscillate between fields of bluebells and the walls of our aquarium.