How my fingers smelled like lavender
three hours after crushing a twig.
Getting body-slammed by my daughter,
the only way she currently shows
affection.
Sounds, even my ringing ears.
The feel of water.
There are things you expect to miss.
But I even miss the misery of puking
my guts out, the cold relief of the porcelain
against my clammy forehead; or my
back threatening to go out if I make one
false move. The smell of diesel exhaust.
The smell of farts! Mosquito bites.
Arguments, thorns. Drills.
How much better than nothing it all was.