Poetry by Amy Pike

Regretting You

Be grateful for the body you’ve inherited.
This, the unlikely body,
is a capsule containing only
electricity and eccentricity.

Give thanks
for arms, and for finger tips
that finds warmth in another’s skin,
for eyes that search for
commonality
and reality.  Such things are more
than generic mutations and evolution.
We are the work of something Divine.

Give thanks for the miracles of
big toes and balance.
Be grateful for deep digital flexor tendons
and your Achilles heel,
and companionship too.

Praise the out-of-place mole
on the center line of the right thigh,
the titanium holding an ankle together.
Femoral arteries that are opened, and contained.
Be thankful for the stints in heart,
re-inflated lungs, and replaced hip bones.
Celebrate cell division,
for our time is limited.

We are more than bone and tendon;
more than things that break and need mending;
we are beings, physical
and not indestructible.
We are spark,
here for flurry of moments;

do not let your voice be silent, lest
your maker takes away your lungs.
Revel in raindrops and one another;
or lose sensation altogether.
This is the last warning; a final call to arms:
do not let this generation
regret you.