Biological Clock

Bodies remember,

even when we forget.

Like a distant lover,

a teasing bus stop taunt,

a few taut words uttered out of a moving car,

can feel it in the fingers,

in the hands,

where the ribs meet the spine,

deep in the hip.

I am reminded that I am clumsy

when I bruise my shin,

scrape my calf.

There are days when one

should be more careful.

I hear people whispering as I close my eyes.

Look, there is the clumsy man.

But I am only clumsy

because my body remembers what it is like

to stack a cord of wood.

My body remembers it has arms like lobster claws,

and for a few days afterwards

my hands feel like mittens.

I am tired today,

because my body remembers.

My eyes recall looking too long at the sun,

studying the tight grain of wood fibers,

counting freckles by candlelight,

that is why I can not see so well anymore.

And my ears,

they remember crickets,

like a field of fireflies,

the peepers.

A tired body is a body that remembers,

and reminds me better than I do,

that there are days that have passed

and so many reasons to reach out to say hello.

Dean at Home: The Pandemic Blog