My Body
©August 20th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
A body is a curious thing to possess.
I am conscious of mine as a friend
With her own blind needs,
Her own mute sorrows, her loud joys,
Her love of some fragrances, and loathing of certain smells,
Her ears that welcome all music,
Her eyes that see beyond facades
But forget to see the facade itself.
She is the entity who shares my other consciousness.
When she is out of sorts,
But *I’m* sanguine, we confuse each other,
And sometimes it’s the other way around,
But mostly, we keep peace between us.
She keeps track of time,
So that even when I’m not near a clock,
She lets me know.
When I am hurt, she forces me to shut down my other self,
And attend to her.
This is as it should be.
She has given me space to live within her
And I love her and thank her for giving me room.
She is a map of my journeys,
And the road on which the journeys took place,
And her imperfections, so many, fill me
With quiet affection.
She has shed her skin so many times, and donned new ones,
And her hands, all veined, have held this earth and other hands
With love and trust, ready to give,
Even when she lost, sometimes.
Yes, she has failed me sometimes,
But then, I failed her even more,
But mostly, we are at peace.
I shall miss her when she dies.
I do not think she’ll remember to miss me
At the time of her passing.
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