Muscle Memory

I have heard that the body has memory –
walk, run, solve a Rubik’s cube, play piano, kiss –
it’s all muscle memory;
you can train your muscles to remember
the doing of anything,
until it is all one smooth motion;
and the memories of muscles
transform and grow into imagination.

***
I wonder what memories my muscles have;

do they remember
the warmth in my chest
as I pass by your former home?
the flutter in my stomach
from your whisper on a warm October night?
the melting of my neck
under your finger tips on a humid July afternoon?

do they remember
the collective drop of my insides
as I think of the time and space between us?
the restlessness in my limbs
from standing in a room you once stood in?

***
Today I crave pain;
I long to hold its malleable form
on my rough, jaded palms,
let it enter my muscles and travel upward,
replacing every memory they have.

My thigh muscles contract as I exercise,
I relish the burning in them,
the tingling of a single stream of sweat
rolling down my back,
the vertigo of being above myself,
at the boundary of possibility.

My insides shudder from unexpected chills
as my shoulder muscles surrender
after supporting a dislocated arm;
I bask in the glow of numbness,
of silence beyond the suppressed screams,
smiling stupidly at the corners of consciousness.

I will encode all of this into little impulses
and send it to my brain –
“pain”, I will label it.

Soon my muscles will only remember pain.

Advertisements

About Aditi

My thoughts are who I am and I am what my thoughts make me.
This entry was posted in Emotions, memories, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s