By Katy Dammers
A box of cashews
She sustains a flurry of assembles to the corner, time steps, twirling in circles, running, bourrées across the stage, leaps, shuffles back and forth, jumping, spinning, turning. Until she falls to the floor like a child exhausted by her own precocious curiosity. Hungry she sits cross-legged and eats, slowly.
A tin of anchovies
Draped across the edge of the wooden ledge he lies musing, in focused meditation on the length and weight of his body. The space between the arch of his upper calf and the glint of the wood polish hums. The molecules of air between his outstretched fingers vibrate, uncurling towards the floor.
A clementine peel parched in perfect roundness
With one leg tucked underneath, she pushes down against the floor and begins to rise. Her gaze is steady as she silently commands concentration on her monotonous ascent. She bores into greater depths with droning intensity.
A square of chocolate revealed by silver edges peeled back
His hands are carefully molded into a series of back bends and forward folds. He begins to sink, knees plying away from each other, as he settles into another studied perch on the floor.
They turn their hands in and out, wrists touching in a revolving door of sliding skin. Each joint articulates, tracing the hemispheres of an invisible orb. Touching softly, moving deftly, they edge closer together to sit on the floor. With eyes closed they look towards each other, slowly.
Katy Dammers recently graduated from Princeton University with a concentration in Art History and a certificate in dance. She now lives in Brooklyn.