A Thank You Note to My Body
Dearly beloved body
that encases me,
animates me,
is me, as a matter of fact,
thank you for being.
It’s a peculiar paradox
when my body writes
a heartfelt note of thanks
to itself
for merely existing.
I love my brain
for its thoughts
and inventions,
its imagining of things,
then bringing them
into existence
—sometimes with
assistance from my
hands and fingers
of course—
although I do have
a testy relationship
with my brain,
by reason of
the dark and nasty things
that exist merely because
of its meanderings.
I’m thankful
for my chicken legs
that take me for walks,
carry me around,
and dump me
in my chair
when I’m tired.
My heart and lungs
are my lifeblood,
literally,
without which
my brain
would not invent
and my legs
would not walk.
I wonder,
if I had to pick,
whether I’d select
my tongue
and stomach
as my favourite bits,
since I do really love
eating and drinking.
My skin is
my largest organ,
but it’s not a bully,
like the large ones
often are;
my interface
with the outside world,
my nexus to reality,
along with my
cobalt blue eyes,
it is the thing that makes living
a great experience,
beyond the internality
of my brain,
the ambulation
of my legs,
and the consumption
of my tongue and tummy.
Dearly beloved body,
thank you for
being me,
making me exist.
