They said my body would not be the same.
My stride would shorten and my reach draw close.
Sweaters I loved would hang loose on my frame
Positioned to keep my scars unexposed.
I was prepared for the changes of heart
And soul, knowing some days would remind me
Of how I lived with the sum of my parts
Intact and remembered nostalgically.
What I failed to predict was that my home
Would withhold all my sources of comfort.
My piano, my chairs and each stepping stone
Would forget how they renewed and restored.
There’s not a part of this house that’s been changed
But to this altered body it’s grown strange.
Adjustment Disorder with Mixed Anxiety and Depressed Mood