Sometimes I lay in bed and try to feel my body pulsing.
I open my teeth very slightly so the blood
pushes them together in rhythmic muted clicks.
I count the time between the staccato drum in my chest
and the drum in my toes.
Playful interactions, minute reminders
that the body regulates and lives.
As though around us and with us,
out of sight.
Like lighting and stage prop crews just behind the curtain,
poised with tables and a wall on wheels,
integral to the next act, the inevitable kiss scene,
the tragic and inevitable death.
The body toiling and being biological while we take care of everything else.
The body thinking about itself in the dark
while it works on itself in the dark.