Massage & Bodywork Therapist

What I give is always mine.

I never lost myself.

I may have been emptied out,

all the shelves in

every closet,

searched and sorting.

But I am like the foot that knows

to land, and what forward feels like.

I’ve stopped –interrupted– looking around,

learning instead to interpret myself

as endless possibilities,

occurring.

I am all here.

90winterpoems, poetryMegan Bowser