The way your body forces you to pay
attention: you don’t get to forget
you have a body, that neutral
state of being, a direct and inert
extension of your brain
to be seen as you
see— No, your body
announces itself, becomes
some thing external you have
to account for, make time for,
apologize for, like trying to figure
out the hint in each syllable
of every doctor and their gaze.
You tell me aging’s a bitch. You tell me
of black women’s weathering,
how old you can feel when
the doctors expect you to erode.
You tell me to look at you
when I’m saying goodbye:
all you want is that easy
feeling when you know
you can share the best parts of you
and not just the necessary ones