Body's Memory

This morning, I felt a twinge, a familiar ghost,

a sharp pulse in my back, a whispering host.

Memories washed in with the light of the dawn,

a dance with the summer, where I once had drawn.

I reached for a mug, hands trembling with time,

a mug that felt heavy, like secrets in rhyme.

My body recalls what my mind tried to hide,

that twist of a moment, where I once had cried.

The echoes of laughter, the creak of the floor,

a faded photograph tucked behind closed doors.

I wonder if muscles know stories by heart,

and the things that we bury, they never depart.