Connective Cube

Any performing art, really, would have to forgive my ability to completely forget the difference between right and left on command. In space and voice.

Yet on a screen, or a flat surface, the difference is clear.

A hug, it hurts when I realize I squeezed extra hard on the shoulder where gramps needs surgery.

A collision with a dancer, going the right direction.

I left home, only to wander around, pinning right to east and left to west. The subway direction helped me do the flippy-floppy north to south.

Still, tell me to hold out my right hand; oops, that was my left hand.