Written by Dustin Miller
i wanted a mark nothing grand proof the ground had held me so i pressed hard heel ball toes the whole weight made legible each year another step each step another version insisting here here here until the toes began arriving before me the heel remaining after i left until the print grew larger than the foot the road entered one of its grooves the house settled into another and called it foundation past every place i remembered standing the footprint continued one morning i woke beneath it and somewhere above me my own leg continued into the attic the arch over my chest the heel at my throat toes reaching beyond sight i knew the tread every line worn by my own movement though it had added lines for places i had never been every pressure mine or shaped like mine i tried to stand the footprint deepened i had believed a mark meant motion that evidence of leaving could not also hold me in place but the mark i made large enough to prove i existed had learned to exist without me and now i am standing on my own neck beneath the scale i gave it the first step is not forward only off
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Dustin Miller is a poet and cross-genre writer based in Houston. His work explores what happens when lived experience exceeds the systems designed to contain it, moving through embodiment, desire, memory, evidence, ownership, and freedom. He writes across lyric and bilingual poetry, hybrid nonfiction, fiction, screenwriting, playable forms, and experimentation.