A Gentle Return

I didn’t come back all at once

It was more like a slow signal

returning to a radio I’d stopped tuning.

﹁﹂

First, I noticed my hands again.

How they reach for the kettle

without asking permission.

How they shake, a little,

When the morning is too quiet.

﹁﹂

I washed my face and actually felt the water.

Not a dramatic scene,

just soap, and the mirror fogging up,

and me—still here, apparently.

﹁﹂

Some days I still flinch

When a door closes too hard.

Some days I laugh at a stupid video

and then I’m mad I laughed,

Like joy owes me rent.

﹁﹂

I bought oranges because they smelled like childhood

and because I could.

I peeled one over the sink,

strings clinging like old stories,

and let the juice run down my wrist

as if I had time to waste.

﹁﹂

Outside, wind worried the trees,

And they didn’t break.

They just… moved.

I tried that.

﹁﹂

I put my phone facedown

and heard my own breath

doing its small, faithful job.

I don’t know what happens next

But today, my lungs chose me.