Headless Mannequins

we both, wanted, to be headless mannequins searching for ways to silence the noise upstairs

while the remainder of the body did what the body does.

we wanted the mind to wash the hands

while the hands did what hands do.

maybe as kids

every print our feet made

was something inconceivable, but eventually we saw wrinkles,

and the road not taken already had hand-printed cement,

gum-stuck in the underneaths, and what’s the point in walking

when dad can carry us home?

there’s no shame in choosing deep waters—

legs wiggling to stay afloat—

or for knowing that if big waves are fun, then bigger waves are better,

but we both hoped nothing below would make us sink to their level.