—By now the body has caught up to the calendar. The fatigue isn’t dramatic; it’s mechanical. This poem is about residual weight and the way December lingers in joints, habits, and expectation.
Your mind insists it’s January.
Your body disagrees.
It wakes with last month still in its joints,
late nights stored in the knees,
sugar tucked behind the eyes,
a dull heaviness that doesn’t argue,
just is.
The coffee helps, but not heroically.
It warms the surface first,
asks the deeper parts to wait.
Muscle by muscle,
you negotiate with yourself.
December left fingerprints everywhere;
sleep slightly off,
breath a half beat behind,
energy rationed without explanation.
The calendar moved on.
Your cells did not.
You drink slower now,
letting heat seep where language can’t.
Recovery isn’t correction,
it’s permission.
By noon, the body loosens its grip
just enough to function.
Not healed.
Not reset.
Simply willing to continue
without pretending it forgot anything.
📜 The Body Remembers December – The Recipe
Ingredients:
- 1 mug of coffee brewed for recovery, not momentum
- A body still carrying last month
- A morning that doesn’t rush you
Instructions:
Brew stronger than usual, but drink slower. Notice where fatigue settles before trying to move it. Sip until warmth reaches joints, not ambition.
Do not correct the body just listen to it. January works better when you let December finish speaking.