correction
The remembering began low in the body—
not hunger, but correction:
a demand for what could be proven—
heat, pressure, return.
The body began its audit.
It found the knots first:
small sites of faith,
muscles clenched around what was missing.
The record of holding too long
unwound beneath a steady breath.
Desire reduced to current,
loss to mineral.
Even the air, once pooled thick in the chest,
loosened and turned sweet
when the want for naming finally eased.
This is what the body knows:
to pare away what will not serve,
to let pain become its own proof of living,
to make use of what would ruin it.
No revelation—
only the ongoing work:
muscles relearning their length,
the heart remeasuring space,
breath steadying,
body returning
to bone,
to ground.