It came with age, as it so often does
the realization that my body hardly matters anymore.
It is part of the not being seen, yet seen all the same
anew.
The arms, the legs, the hands that have held so many dreams-my own and others-the eyes that have gotten to gaze vividly into those of the newborn not just once but four times, this body.
This body.
It is here, and it serves so well. It has held and it has given. It has afforded and it has shamed.
It has always supported; what a revelation.
No more though for the delivery of someone else’s delight. No more though, for the use of someone else’s sufficiency.
No eye strays to see this body pass by, and yet it does, this body and I do, still yet.
so I ask this body, what is it now?
We are passing away, you body and I, and will become the ash of the earth, feed for the next soul.
Yet we are here now still, you body and I, and there is something important in this fact.
I am visible, and have a new way of showing up. You body and I walk into a room, stand at the crossroad of what was and what is to come.
You body and I stand just right here, just like the way we stood decades ago, entering into the dancehall, waiting to be seen.
Discernibly straight spined, head high but most importantly with a heart wide open and a spirit alight on faith, we stand-you body and I-here, awaiting the sight of this new birth, new ash heap, new molding of clay into life.