Your inimitable shape does not conform
to what you know to be the norm.
When others get a glance, you get a gape.
You’re too sophisticated psychologically
to think there’s any tenable escape
from what you are. Maybe drop
the What and be a Who? Goes too far.
“Who” suggests the human. Clearly that’s
not you. But today you sway to think it might
not matter. Old presumptions start to scatter.
This armless apparatus of a body
with a tail that efficaciously is strong enough
to let you sit upon it when the tedious travail
of standing up becomes too much,
reveals it’s quite inarguably true that you
know touch through flesh, without which you’d
not know you were alive. You feel your lips
and cheeks and face begin to thrive:
to make a space for smiling. You know
somehow that in this moment you’ve become
beguiling. Almost banishes the strife
to realize your body is how you know life.