All of Me

Even early me wanted to walk in back of me. I wondered about all degrees of me.

Contorted view from a video, photo and mirror do not suffice.

It is nice to know my chin but why not my nape?  I want to see firsthand how my hair landscapes and escapes.

I would stand and look down at the top of my head as if it were a bush.  A new perspective on the full outer body me.

An x-ray exposed parts inside me; that was interesting to see.  But what about the curves and planes of me?

What is my stride, I want to see.  It would be fun to detail the soles of my feet – down where the plantar fascia pain seeps. Do the sole creases mirror those of my palm?  What stories hide there?

This cactus knows toes!

And what about behind my knee?

No one can tell me about the rest of me; I want to see.

How I look in jeans and more.  Am I really neat?  What about that seat? Why can’t I see the folds where the buttocks tuck and find my thighs? And while I am at it, why not that great channel between what I daily know but have never truly seen.

I would scrutinize the vertebrae one by one as they interlock through the tree. Latissimus dorsi, trapezius, rhomboids, majors and minors that flex and extend. And what about those erectors.   Structures critical to be me.

I want to examine the lower back scar from the morning the maple tree grew sick of me.

Things that make me unique.

I know it is ordained not to see. Don’t think badly of me.  I really treasure what I can see.  Still, how I would love to celebrate all 360 degrees of me.

A Personal Spring Thaw

The calendar and temperature suggest otherwise, but my spring begins when the first flock of robins descend on the tree outside my dining room window.  They arrive in large numbers to retrieve the red berries that just a week ago were encased in ice.

The Philodendron on the north facing windowsill I curated all winter also sense a change – their leaves display an aliveness that short winter days and the dryness of furnace heat had stifled.

The earth emits a musky odor as plants and creatures stir underneath pushing up toward the light.  Leaves begin to take flight in the March wind uncovering new growth throughout my yard.

Bearing Witness

You need stuff; you go get stuff.  My visits to the supermarket and its environs are in general non-events.  One late spring morning last year I was feeling rather pleased with myself as I exited the store with only two plastic bags in tow.  Opening the car door, I deposit the bags.  Cars pull in; cars pull out.  The usual rhythms of activity in a suburban mall.

As I put the key in the ignition and prepare to start my car, my attention is drawn to the sight of a slight woman collapse onto the blacktop.  I recall she had been in line behind me. Collapse  may not be the most descriptive word for she just folds in half as she sinks onto the warm road, as graceful as a dancer.  She appears conscious yet makes no effort to rise.  A younger woman who trails a few paces behind her catches up and bends over  grabbing under her armpits in an attempt to lift her. The effort leaves left both women disheveled.