Day 811, September 21, 2022

Restore

I am taller than I am short, 

more tired when I am awake, 

dreaming of cool summer evenings 

and the dew dampening my shoes in the morning. 

In the morning 

when it is still mostly dark, 

I say little 

and exercise will power, 

habit, 

and routine. 

When my grandfather first arrived in this country, 

he did his morning stretches 

while watching Sesame Street 

to practice his English. 

I imagine his body as a thing of momentum, 

rather than a thing to be used up. 

He was a man of maintenance. 

I eat too much and stay up too late 

to covet my body as well as he did, 

the lithe dancer. 

Today, 

I nearly napped 

even as synapses crackled and popped around me. 

How many dreams were extinguished 

even as I waited for a question to be answered. 

Perhaps a simple life 

means one where I have no aspiration, 

no lust, 

no linger. 

I touch finger to nose 

and feel a face that is becoming less familiar. 

When I was born 

my mother had a sleeve of Oreo cookies on the bedside table. 

As a baby, 

my face was carefully scratched, 

and my skull rubbed smooth 

by the grip of a forceps, 

like a thumb print. 

The day is already past, 

and it is hard to know what to remember anymore.