Day 713, June 15, 2022

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.


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