Lisa, daughtee, and Aleksei , father, on motorcycle in city center, Kostroma, Russia
The Twenty-Third Poem September 4, 2022
I’m alive. I wasn’t sure I’d live
this long, but here I am. The
medicine still works. I still wake
up early or later than I intended.
My body has its own rules, and
I obey as best I can: eat more
toast, drink more tea. The words
begin. They call me in. My mind
cooperates. It’s not a trick. It’s
a reward, a gift. My brain’s not
ready yet to call it quits.
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