If my body were a puppy, I would love it.  I would love it through the rumble tumble time.  I would love it when it chewed up my shoes, and I would love it all snuggled up in blankets while I read a book.  I would smile at its bark and savor the kisses.

I would tickle its fat little tummy and laugh.

If my body were a mountain, it would be an Appalachian and not a Rocky.  All mounds and curves, nothing jagged. 

If my body were an infant, I would feed it when hungry and rock it to sleep.

If my body were a tree, I would marvel at the changes the years would bring.

If my body were a leaf, it would be from an oak. Ordinary for its place and time, but still a miracle to be in awe of.

If my body were a creek, it would start out as a trickle growing and growing until it needed to release the overflow to something larger than itself.

If my body were on sale at the Kroger, it would be in the clearance section – past its prime and wilted around the edges, but still just as useful.

If my body were a cup of coffee, it wouldn’t be hot, but it would be drinkable.

If my body were love, it would be the comfortable, easy, gentle kind.  Not a flaming passion with drama and discord punctuated by breathlessness and poetry.

If my body were a table, it would be a scarred wooden one like in my kitchen.  Where the stain is stripped in spots and there are scratches from the pizza cutter.  One that I think now and again of refinishing and restoring to its early glory but am too busy to tend to.

If my body were a house, it would be well decorated underneath a layer of clutter, dust, and neglect.

If my body were a yoga pose, it would be savasana – the closing pose of a challenging class.  Sprawled and sprawling.  Utterly relaxed on a soft mat.

If my body were me, perhaps I would find the discipline to change it as I have changed my life.  Would subject it to calorie and carb counting, exercise and girdles, hair color, and eyebrow tattoos. Frequent weighing and long examinations in the mirror to identify areas in need of improvement.

If my body were me. . .

But my body is not me. 

My body is not me.

My body is not me.

It is mine to carry this spirit, this intellect, this laughter, this joy, this talent, and all these memories.  I will love it like a faithful old dog sitting by the fire curled up on a blanket, warming its bones.