The Pain Body

The skeleton stiffens and teeters with age,

becomes tentative, 

unlike youth's carefree, unthinking steps,

learns to place its feet carefully,

feels the ache and snap of over-stepping,

houses the heart in its rib cage protectively,

holds the head precariously 

on its fragile, so breakable stem,

head spinning precariously, 

bones helpless to stabilize

the swirling mass of neurons.

Slowly, I have become aware of my bones,

clinking and clanking ponderously

within my sagging skin.

I transport my bulk across streets 

filled with impatient, idling cars,

drivers revving their engines,

glaring at my portentous, impeding passage.

I picture this same body, these same bones,

years back, standing on a beach at sunset,

arms raised,  exulting,

corporal outline in shadow, edged with amber light,

never dreaming of a time

when I'd be living in a pain body,

the beaches and the sunset and the exultation

shining golden

only in memory.

for Margaret's prompt at Real Toads: Skeleton Poetry