flourishing ovenbird And this is how it begins, her body becoming something new. A bud burgeoning beneath her skin. I say, this is the first sign but there will be others, and she hugs herself and says, quietly, “no…my sweet body…” and it makes me want to cry, the way she loves herself, the way she hasn’t yet learned to despise the softness that carries her, the way she wants to hold on to the shape of her childhood. And I, on the other end, moving in reverse, my body beginning to wind down the systems that make life possible, both of us staring at each other in surprise and awe and grief— both of us unsure who we will be on the other side. 260104 what's it to you? who go blather from