Life, underground
P Rose
I am told we left the above long ago. Our ancestors fled to the earth heal and give the ground back to grass. In the Inverted City we cannot push down deeper. The footing gets hot and viscous. We build out, in radiating circles that are filled with our creations and supportive spaces.
I am told they used to spend most their time in boxes, above ground. That when you ventured out it was easy to get lost in Paris or New York Or even Denver. I find the loneliness so foreign; they used to walk through life without knowing their neighbor. They would eat food from hands they never grasped, and extract resources from people they could other.
Some wish their kids might walk the above, one day. That we might return to make more than concrete and glass and conflict.
I like to build here, underground. Where our space is precious and shared, where our bodies could be forgotten. I’d like to think our spirit will live on long past the blocks we built. A residing echo of the collective.