After a while you simply forget.
You forget how to stand up, to sit
down, and how to move.
You forget how to walk with liquid strides,
how to swim 42 long, silent laps,
while shafts of sunlight sink
into the cool tourmaline pool.
You forget how to talk to people
you meet while lingering over a
mediocre Malbec on a shady patio,
how to chat with that sweet girl in
the pet store, who always looks at you
with a curious concern in
her rain-colored eyes.
You even (and not infrequently) forget
how to organize your thoughts into an
email to a friend from back home.
You certainly forget how to climb across
seaweed-slick boulders at low tide,
plucking hermit crabs from tide-pools
to marvel at their affronted bravado
and the perfection of their tiny claws.
After a while, you even forget how
to dash across a snowy intersection
for a five-dollar slab of
moist, gritty pretzels from a guy
with a shopping cart at Sixth and Vine,
and, you realize with a soft whoosh
how to settle into the low-slung wobble
and sway of the subway
on your way to 'the Vet' for
a Twi-Night Double Header
on a July afternoon so hot and 'umid
that the air feels oxygen depleted,
as if it had already been breathed.
(c) 2014, by Hannah Six