It wasn't a coincidence that the intensity of her eyes didn't suit her face. She was just the outer shell containing the glares of innumerable reincarnations. Together they resembled a set of Russian stacking dolls perfectly aligned all gazing out the same opening. They were birds and butterflies and kings and slaves each reflecting their own stories of hardship and triumph.

Strangers would look up for the source of their discomfort, for the thing that caused their skin to itch.

Photo credit: Jack Davidson

Sometimes as a kid I went to my mom’s water aerobics class. Goggles on I would dive under and listen to the instructor’s garbled voice bark directions. I waved my arms like a conductor pretending to command the action. Their fleshy folds billowed like sails, pocketing the water and resisting their movement. It looked slower than slow motion. Slower than walking even.

Photo credit: David Parody