Family sorrow is in my expanding bags, on my soggy lid, from way back, but it’s ok; I’m not stopping.
Skin sags under my punny chin, connecting to pictures in black and white. Their heads slightly toppled backward, as if taken aback, suppressing fear, but it’s ok, I will continue.
Heaviness the sentence of my stance, grinding hip sockets, a weak abdomen, as if its age had suddenly doubled, but that’s ok, I am not backing off from the call.
Pain throbs in random places, and vague aches refuse to dissolve for good or reveal their true origin. A sense of ligaments pulling by their own volition, my nerve endings overreact. An uncertain ending suggested, glimpses in the elder’s frail voice, but it’s ok, I continue to do the thing.
Brain fog comes and goes. Sometimes, the morning recharges to clarity, then clouds set in again soon after a snack. Housework exertion gets the blood flowing, and oxygen clears up space, but the aftershock arrives shortly into the break, with its familiar fatigue, palpitations up the stairs.
But I’m on it anyway, as the wind wails, trying to discourage my discoveries. I’m writing it while a hurricane sums up strength on the horizon, dimming the sitting room for moments. But I keep going, because when the sunlight peers momentarily, it still warms my back, and says to take it to the finish line, to the Sun, to him. And I will, all the karma collected in this body, all their wailing, their angsty wind, I’ll take it all out to dry and sanitize in his light.