My body remembers pain. It’s like a prison locking me inside. My left eye jumps with nervous tension. The right eye wants no part and jerks away. My forehead welcomes my hand, smoothing the creases, leaning on my warm fingers for comfort. My body remembers comfort. Slow-motion resources bring me to ease. Walking along the beach on a warm sunny day, gulls flying high above my head. Lake Michigan laps at my feet. Forgotten unnamed sorrows surface. My body remembers sorrow. I’d locked sorrow away in a box and thrown away the key, but it’s spilled over. Sorrow chases me and settles in my pelvis, infecting my spinal column. Bedridden, I drift into Yoga nidra. My body remembers nidra. The voice of dread passes my intestines. Regret leaves its hiding place in my ribcage and wanders through my solar plexus. Love scampers from my extremities heading to my heart. Nidra removes negativity pulling it to the Earth Star chakra beneath my feet. My body remembers Earth Star.
Mona Mehas (she/her) writes about growing up poor, accumulating grief, and the climate from the perspective of a retired, disabled teacher in Indiana, USA. Her work has been published in over forty journals, anthologies, and online museums. Mona is a Trekkie and enjoys watching Star Trek shows and movies in chronological order. Her pamphlet, ‘Questions I Didn’t Know I’d Asked,’ is available from LJMcD Communications. Follow on Twitter @Patienc77732097 and linktr.ee/monaiv