A surprising juxtaposition of the seventeenth century with classical times.
The concluding stanzas of What the Heart Cannot Forget by Joyce Sutphen. In a decidedly unpoetic way, the image reminds me of the way my body feels when someone helps me exercise long unused muscles.
And the skin remembers its scars, and the bone aches
where it was broken. The feet remember the dance,
and the arms remember lifting up the child.
The heart remembers everything it loved and gave away,
everything it lost and found again, and everyone
it loved, the heart cannot forget.