I can feel the weather in my knees, now that I’ve injured one and stopped caring about the other. I can feel the storms sneak sly and salty across my unsuspecting scalp and tired spine. I can feel the wind have opinions across my shoulders and in the sinews of my arms. I can hear the sun before she rises in the ache of my chest and the creak of my legs.
There is weather in my knees, and it changes enough to keep the punchline fresh. Different each day enough to keep my waiting less.
I’m ok with my creaky sneaky body, I’ve made room in my disorganized heart for its warnings and whims.
But try though I do, and steadily, I’ve yet to find space in my well adorned place, for wails and shrieks that are birthed in my center, without wind or rain or sun. There is no home for my heart’s own, and so often it wanders my soul