Thoughts after Illness

My body is soft
 like old-fashioned mochi
pounded into a semi-fluid comfort.
missing all the pleasing angles and panes
that would deem it beautiful.
Or  strong.

It is a deception this mochi softness.
My body is tough.
Like over-chewed chewing gum
that will make your jaws ache
but will deny you the comfort of an end.

My body gives the best hugs.
No sharp bones or hard muscle;
Because it is built to absorb
shocks and pain--
both mine and others'

My body is formed like the blot of ink;
that drop of paint
that fell on the page
and formed its own shape.
Spread itself out to cover
 as much as it could,
claiming room for me.

My body
 wraps itself in malleable layers
around me,
protecting me
in its fierce softness
that swallows every horrible thing
said about it
by me and by others,
and refuses to buckle.
It fights daily to keep me alive
intractable in its mission;
Every scar willfully obscured
Every ache denied.

And every once in a while
when it falters
in its illusion of sovereign protection,
It stutters and stumbles,
 bewildered by its weakness
like a flower discovering gravity,
like a child discovering
 that it is not  loved by everyone
Or an adult
Discovering she is loved.
The mochi softness folds in on itself.
waiting for the storm to pass.
Waiting for me to say something.

My body--
small
soft
imperfect
and mine.
You are not what I wished for
I am not what you wished for
We are what we've got.