Most mornings I unspool the knotted rope of me
into cool water, trying to dip down 
into gratitude. My sinking body
in its nylon suit still moves as I tell it to,
the lift and push of limbs across the length of pool.
Mother, some days I even remember to thank 
the ache that lives at the base of my spine, too, 
for how it lifts me buoyant to this place of ease. 
I am trying to believe it is not the weight,  
but how we carry what we’re given that bends 
us down, or lets us float awhile, suspended 
in these years between the gathering up 
and letting go. Mother, I am trying 
to let go, but not of everything, a soft
loosening of my clench upon this world 
I entered through your body.