balance

the body 

starts with no strikes

against it, and then one day it reminds

you -- and it will remind you -- of that time when you were 22

playing coed volleyball in a dimly lit gym in Seattle

and went up to block a spike 

and you landed on the spiker's foot under the net 

and your right ankle rolled --

and then snapped.

She scored the point, you scored 

a ride to the emergency room.

And now, at nearly 60, you're just about ready to down dog

on your lavender yoga mat 

and it's there again, that right ankle.

That -- and the left hip replaced by titanium

and the right breast missing some flesh

and the left elbow ripped by a riptide

and the arthritis in the thumb --

and you try to be grateful 

that it's your left,

because otherwise

you might not be writing this poem.

They say

the body 

keeps the score --

At this point, I just hope it's a tie

between left and right.