I think it’s on to me. My knee, that is. Seems to know what I’ve got planned, that it’s not long for this world. Ten days til surgery and for the last week that poor joint has been hammering with pain. It knows, and it’s not happy.
I feel sorry for it, but my course is set. I do feel sorry. It’s strange to think of swapping out a piece of your body for a piece of equipment. Not that I’m worried about becoming Borg or bionic, but will I miss it? As unlikely as that should seem, I do wonder.
Everything I’ve read says recovery can take at least a year, and given how out of shape I am, I’m surely a poster child for long recovery. Still. A year is a LONG time. True, it takes time to build a solid relationship – and took me 20 years to be ready to break things off with my current knee – but a year. Whoa, is all I’m saying.
Tonight’s Arun is really not calling my name. When it started forming in my head, I thought we were going somewhere, but no. No matter. We can’t always have those “uncharted atlas” moments.
It’s all you ask.
It’s all I can’t say.
could gentle us,
pull us from this edge,
lift us clear.
But no. Nothing
will be that easy.
An Arun is a fifteen-line poem in three sets of five lines. Each set of five lines follows the same syllable structure: starting with one syllable and increasing by one (1/2/3/4/5 — 3x).