Written by, Frank C.
I woke up this morning
and for a moment
everything was quiet.
No smoke in the lungs
no fog in the head
just breath
arriving
like a tide.
For years
I lived under a cloud
that promised warmth
and handed me winter.
A small flame of trembling ash
that slowly turned
my bright nervous system
into frozen ground.
I thought it was medicine.
I thought it was music.
I thought it was comfort.
But somewhere inside
my cells were whispering
another story.
They were waiting.
Waiting through the accident.
Waiting through the nights of noise.
Waiting through the slow forgetting.
Because the body remembers
how to come back.
One breath
one cell
one quiet morning
at a time.
Now the ice is cracking.
Fear comes sometimes
like a cold wind
blowing through old rooms.
But I understand something now:
The fear is not the enemy.
It is the thaw.
Under the frozen river
life has been moving all along.
My brain is remembering light.
My heart is remembering rhythm.
My cells are remembering water.
Twenty-seven days clean
is not the end of the journey.
It is the moment
the first green shoot
pushes through the snow.
I am not the fellow
under the smoke anymore.
I am the fellow
who kept breathing.
And the sun is rising
inside my nervous system.
One wave
one breath
one cell
at a time.
