RECOVERY MOBILITY
shibboleth
two boldface plea-incentives adorn
the back wall of the clinic; I always
read them - a shibboleth - between
heel raises. There are others who
come here with turf in their shoes,
but I come here from hydrotherapy:
a graduate in warding off muscle
wasting. Today, I reverse the words
(MOBILITY RECOVERY) until the
mantra slides down my calf and hits
my cuboid: distributed weight. Then,
I reconfigure the decorative rep bait
into a tottering micro-poem:
(re)cover / (hyper)mobility.
I stretch the language, another type
of connective tissue: "(re)cover" as in (re)conceal, (re)insure, (re)balance,
or, worse, (re)bury. Double-booked
words becoming corporeal, again
I point my toes. Two sets of eight.
//
Publication Credit: "RECOVERY MOBILITY" first appeared in The Orange Rose Literary Magazine Issue 1
About the Creator
Erin Latham Shea
Assistant Poetry Editor at Wishbone Words
Content Writer + Editor at The Roch Society
Instagram: @somebookishrambles
Bluesky: @elshea.bsky.social
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building the mid-20s lexicon
by wearing a hair clip, going to the movies for the first time in six years -- with an ex, no less; the one who liked degrading sex; mess; he keeps his hand in agitated rest, icy on my left thigh -- by drinking beet juice (within five days of opening) because I feel particularly earth-bound, because it smells like the bottom of a well (near-empty), by leaning into the short haircut, which feels both manageable and unruly and, at last, aged instead of juvenile (the movie theater bathroom mirror is so piercing and portal-esque I wonder how long I can keep up this confident mien), by lamenting about meal planning and blepharitis with my cousin, by breaking in a posture brace, by inching toward a 1000-day Duolingo streak, by considering using Afterpay for a 1.7 fl. oz. face cream, by running out of shelf space, by developing a halcyon attachment to the squirrel that's made a home under the solar panels, takes a routine jaunt across the porch to eat ice chips, by throwing out anything with underwire, by treating each errand as sacrosant, by building World Market wishlists, by staring at my hands a lot, by Mary Oliver's locution, by rereading, by radically championing how my face splits in half, by sending love to the tip of my skull, by seeing what builds up under my nails.
By Erin Latham Shea11 months ago in Poets
Comments (3)
This is great! I absolutely love the formatting of it! That takes it to another level!! My name is Bill. It's a pleasure to meet you. I have subscribed to you. ⚡💙⚡
I enjoyed the word play on Re. Nice job.
Ah, what the mind does through the tedium of repetitive exercises, making it's way through the burn. Word play & composing poetry works as well as anything.