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Remember me,
but in a while,
The cold air defiles my summer skin as I
Push the covers back like tent flaps,
my hairs stand on their ends,
Remember me,
but not just yet.
or maybe just a few more minutes before I get out of bed.
The floor creaks,
that must be me,
Bed springs released from holding my weight.
The carpet tickles,
my nightdress too,
It sways around my calves.
And on my feet,
the tickles shift — heel, toe. heel toe.
I must be moving.
Remember me,
but not like this,
The chill in the air makes my bones sting,
And all of my screams,
‘just a few more minutes’
But I know my body will thank me,
I know my brain is thanking me.
And I’ll do this every day if I have to.
Remember me,
but give me time to breathe,
Give me time to mess it up,
To fix it,
To lather rinse repeat,
I want “I’m glad we talked” over “I should’ve said—”
Birthday cards over eulogies.
Remember me,
but old and grey,
My eyes, still young and unlined! trace a path of
light across the floor,
to the crack in the curtains,
where the sun peeps in.
A reminder of all life’s doings beyond these walls.
Too long inside causes a mind to fracture,
And forget!
We felt the same cold last year, and yet, we’re all:
“Isn’t it chilly?” “Yeah, I was just saying that!”
How lucky we are to experience it
again
again
again.
Remember me in 40
50
60 years, even!
I’ll take every second that I can get,
I’ll take my precious time in this world,
then pass, grateful, to the next.
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