I rolled around in the grass, in the overall shorts of the past three weeks.
flipping over myself and squeezing my hands - to affirm
that they were the same hands who had made this work, and who had lived all the moments before this began.
It seemed impossible,
Like the time my friends took me to their sweat lodge
I could not fathom that all of my memories happened to this same body
that was slippery with sweat and dirt.
But on the hill, fully comfortable
un-phased by the sprained foot I'd attend to the next day.
I had done it, i'd done it, my body had been through the days
that first brought the impossible incrementally closer to being,
closer, relentlessly, daily,
until it was done.
I wonder now with worry, this ideal-
Release tied to achievement,
That first time I remember feeling so completely abandoned
that one one else had chosen this thing with their whole heart
if it would be done than I would do it,
I would birth it.
and I had, it was done.