I Sing The Body Eclectic

I find myself saying far too often,

I once was a dancer.

My body falls apart as quickly as I danced a

Pas de Bourrée or

Shuffled off to Buffalo.

I used to act,

Impressions as a kid, in love with old movies on channel 9 and 11.

Someone scared me out of my confidence

To continue, so long ago.

I used to write poetry.

Now I can’t finish a second novel, a screenplay,

It’s time for poetry again.

My body still moves, through pain,

Through tendons breaking down

Through degenerative bone and joint diseases.

I once was a passable cartoonist, painter, potter,

Photographer.

Now I stare at the sky and

Take pictures of clouds passing with a phone that uploads to one immediately,

Of changing seasons in my garden, the sea.

No more dark rooms.

I once sang soprano,

that lasted decades more.

Now, I listen for and pick out

Birdsong.

I had cancer.

Some say I fought it.

Even if I did,

They cut it out,

Burnt it out

Two ways,

As I lay so sick

I couldn’t care for myself or my precious, precocious child.

I did my best. It wasn’t much of a fight.

It was a long rest needed to

Will the cancer away.

I drove myself daily along

The long country roads to radiation treatments, as I quickly lost skin under my shirt that rubbed

Hot-sore, exposed me-ness of it all,

and

Listened to Robin Wall Kimmerer tell me to fall back

Into the land and let her heal me. I let her heal me,

To the best of my ability

In this modern world.

It’s time.

It’s time for me again.

It’s time for acting, painting,

Photography, pottery, and poetry again.

And dance, even if it’s with two canes, by myself.

First draft, 11.5.2024