Memory

Monday morning and I'm moving slowly
my body is holding on
to the memory of the weekend
each step reflects the twists and turns and hiking
over hot sand
my arms wake me several times this night
though asleep they sing loudly
of holding pens and brushes and
I shake them into submission and
dive back to somnolence to forget.
The older I get, the less the mind
remembers
the more the body memorizes
and the two are at odds
when it's time to put feet on the floor.

At the beach I watch my younger self
like a porpoise in the clear green water
shimmering with sunlight
wild with the waves
I ride, surf, and body slam
my suit fills with sand
my head fills with water
my board skims
my body floats
my legs drag me out of the surf
all through my eyes alone
as I watch her
thirteen and fearless
conquer the beach.

The first step is the hardest
and perhaps the third and
fourth and the fifth
the day unfolds in a series
of winces, jerks, and stumbles
and I try to forget the number
of steps from here to there
surely there's relief in some
bottle somewhere in the sandy
recesses of my purse
by nighttime I'll be ready for
another trek
the mind's a void and
pain I can forget.