Still Me

Right now I am the pork and leek dumplings from the freezer of Tan A and the entire family running the shop and raising their children between the cash registers, far more interested in the fat baby girl in a leopard print diaper than any of the customers in the line snaking down the aisle. 

Right now I am the boy with his arm in a cast jumping on the pogo stick one footed.

Right now I am the hound dog seeking eternal escape only to sit in the front yard, no real interest in the outside world other than to case its edges, know for sure that it's there.

Right now I am creaky, stiff hips, soft flesh on old bones, the oh yes of loose pants and soft dresses, the body stretching to make contact with the mind.

Right now I am the bags on their way to Goodwill and the pile of limbo in the living room, the stuff and junk of work and life, too big to be shelved, too important to be tossed, too singular to be put away.

Right now I feel like I've reached the next level of the video game and all of the landscapes and controls and players are new to me, even me, especially me.

Right now I am the prototype of the handbook that arrived on my doorstep after a lifetime of thinking, years of teaching, months of writing. I am the tears and the shame and the blessings and the sweat and the pain that put the ink on the page. 

Right now I'm looking around to see if someone's waiting to demand back their key, their bank account, their business license, their husband, their son but then it's still me and all the thousands of layered days it's taken to get to this place where I can answer "good" to the question how are you more than once, twice, thirty days in a row.