Letters from Home
Old Dogs Bark, Walking in London,

Old Dogs Barking

I remember you, you
Lost soles, you distant lovers
Forgotten from those days
So long now in those
Foreign lands.

Everything we
Predicted happened– we
Lost touch. We forgot what it
Felt to be connected: first to
Each other, and then
Through each other
To the pulsing, quaking potential
Of our shared mother, who isn’t
Dead yet, but merely laying in wait–
Gentle soft invisible — underfoot.

We’ve taken each other for granted.
I would say: I need something else
When there was nothing
Else but you and the next
Place to be or go or do, and
These are the essential and
Only actions
you tried to tell
Me and I didn’t listen.

I know you forgive me– you always forgive me
And did and would. But now that we’re
Conversing again, I realize
How many more of us are
Impacted — it was never just you and me.

One summer day I tried to descend
A puny hill and I forgot you
(Or maybe it was
Mutual) and I crumbled in a heap
An ankle snapped. And one
Girl Scout Cookie sales time
I forgot how much we needed each other
(And this was all me)
I put you down where there
Was no ground. A toe and a knee
Paid the price.

Now these days you’re too much tucked up
Under me on work mornings so then
Soon enough the back and the hips
Find themselves frozen
Twisted as if being
Pre-molded into a statue
Of what we used to be.

I’d rather remember the ache of you–
Double shifts skidding across the slate at
PF Changs. A summer at Magic Kingdom and
10 hour-days communing with hot cement.
And our glory days together–
London —
Wearing grooves into the pavement
En route to Victoria via the Bakerloo.

But all I can do is take you as you are today–
Old dogs barking after a long hike in the woods.

Isolation Journals New Year Challenge Day 3

Prompt: Think about a time that you experienced a shift in your relationship with your body. What caused this shift? Did it last?