Though my identity is on hiatus: I can't walk, drive, do yoga, bike, swim, run out of a rain storm, play Frisbee with my boy...
so much of who I am is of the body
and after all these years of coming back into my body, coming home,
I'm ready to leave it again
even though
my writing mind, my voice of experience, is still here
very here
reminding me over and over again that, hey,
this is the real moment of your memoir
this is what they really write memoirs about
the memoirs you devour and think will never happen to you
but look, here it is happening to you too and are
you going to face it like a writer or an innocent?
a yogi or a plum?
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