Remember this when surgery is months in the past, body again elastic, stitches irritating memories, doctor visits rare:
How delicious, walking to the corner store for milk at dusk.
Eating sausage in an outdoor amphitheater, laughing and crying at Cyrano de Bergerac.
Splashing bleach and water across the tiles of our tiny deck.
Sleep, with ordinary dreams - or, with my dreams, not demons out of a prescription bottle.
Walking, hips moving freely, skirt swinging, shoulders loose and open. Those muscles clenched tight for so long softening, letting go. Shifting in bed without anything hurting, or hurting much. This is luxury, this is pleasure.
In two, maybe three weeks, I'm going dancing.