The Good Flesh
“Days are the good flesh continuing.” Robert Hass
My flesh continues. I pay attention
to this in a novel way. A cough,
a sniffle, a shoulder ache— I take
my temperature. It’s unexceptional.
Sore muscles, can I taste the apple?
The jalapeño? I experiment with
deep breath. Yes. The tiredness,
I calculate as stress. Usually
my body and I go on as cordial
strangers, nodding at intersections,
willing to plod a few steps farther
to retrieve a dog’s rubber ball,
pick up the mail, panting and giving
it little or no attention. Now I watch
my cough, as if all this observation
might be a charm against the sick
mystery. Why is it every day before
this I took for granted indeterminacy,
embraced Heisenberg and his theory?
I knew I didn’t know. I didn’t worry.
Today, I monitor the body that
surrounds me, live with a flawed
philosophy, one of bodily scrutiny,
one that almost promises safety.
