Exposure

A landscape is a thing you find yourself in. It’s hardly a thing you’re aware you have entered until it gets dramatic.

We walk landscapes on maps: the body’s whole topography limned on the soles of our feet. Trunk lines meet in these elegant structures supporting it all.

I have one foot in the warmth of Dad’s world and one in the arctic of Mom’s.

Continued exposure in glacial conditions leads to a loss of sensation. Toes and arch and ankle numb, then freeze. Extended exposure blackens, then detaches them.

If only I think a certain way, my foot will be there. If I change my behavior, if I am a really good person, my foot will come back. If I strap this brick in its place I won’t even notice. If I chop the other one off I might regain my balance.

Oh, void. Oh, foot I do not have. Oh, elaborate contraption I build to propel myself.