You do not have to be good, Mary says. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
And what does this soft animal body love?
Today, it seemed to love walking. Bundled boy in pushchair—off to the library. The body remembers countless Saturday afternoons at my local as a child. The animal body, soft amongst the bound words, the stillness, the quiet. Some kind of holy.
It loved walking, walking, walking. It loved taking me to a bookshop. Choosing a cake. Picking a bunch of peonies: three, all blousy, open, flouncy; two, still in bud, tight, together. No space in the layers yet. I will watch them reveal themselves, shameless, over the next few days.
This animal stopped by the side of Coronation Road, jammin’ to Wham Rap blasting from a car dawdling in the traffic jam.
This animal stopped to smell the rose.
And it was sweet.