On Smudging

asymptotic elbow
When thinking about as much of everything as we can process late at night, Nick and I came to understand that we cannot think about everything. Our professor's theory--a theory she describes as the theory of everything-- has "limited" in the name. Whether everything is processable or not, I am incapable of processing everything and there is a good chance that everything can't be processed by anything. Still, I must navigate the world. I must believe North Quad (the building I am typing in) is solid or I'd have far too much to think about. Once I read that people are more likely to help each other in small towns not because they know each other but because they are less distracted. But how do we filter content? Who filters content? Can I be content viewing content filtered by someone else just because I cannot wade through all of it? Seeing things as parts lets me type each individual letter of these words that you are reading, but trying to divide the world into parts leads to harmful stereotypes and assumptions that limit everything more than it should ever be. While I cannot live without separating things off, I am compelled to push them back together in a way where I can listen hopefully listen to car horns, street conversations, trucks backing up, my i-pod, and the person yelling for help. I don't believe melting pots that result in one homogenous whole are the answer, but neither are line segments. If everything came from everything why not smudge it back together a little.

she put shoes on feet
often backward because
she didn't understand
that little bend
designating each shoes'
connection to
one
particular
foot

like putting a sheet
back into a printer
so things go
on the same damn side
or not understanding
tags on shirts should
be closest to you
before pulled overhead
winding up neatly behind
or pressing the gas pedal
while in drive
backing out of a driveway

but after awhile she learned
which parts go where
on our filing cabinet bodies
belts on waists
bindis on foreheads
blindfolds on eyes
bras on breast
crucifix over collarbone
hand lotion on hands
hijab on head
kippah on bald spot
leggings on legs
mascara on eyes
scarf on neck
scrapes on knees
tallit on shoulders
underwear on privates
scrapes on knees
she learned
mirrors could show her
hair too big
legs too skinny
toes too curled
bellybutton too deep

then one day while looking at the elbow
she couldn't think of any clothes or lotions
to organize beside the bend
saw how it curved into infinity
just like the shoes that once were meant
for every feet
through the asymptotic elbow
she stopped seeing hair
as something to be brushed
brain as abstraction
hair grew into brains grew into soul
not really grew
everything smudged
she could never keep
papers without coffee stains
pencil notes with solid lines
but oh how she tried
to pretend enough
her zippers would align
everyone could know
she really tries
to pretend like them
to believe
things are defined
are designed
are at least following trends
have beginnings and ends
can be filed between
physical and fake
can be without mistake
but even as she tries
her asymptotic elbow laughs
line segments are just lies